#That is like. Actually really grim. It's like gore for babies.

[clover-the-awesomest]

Okay. So, while it is sweet and wholesome and very kind of Raph to cut his claws off just so he doesn't hurt Casey at first glance... As someone who is aware of the problems that come from clipping a cat's claws, I can understand how painful that must've been. It probably still hurt even when Casey turned 3 years old! Like I bet those claws are ATTACHED to Raph's fingers. Just look at them fingies! Those claws do not look trimmable at all! So what Raph essentially did was he just took a power-saw and cut off the tips of his fingers. Just so he wouldn't accidentally graze Casey Junior with them...

Damn. Like I appreciate the commitment but wtf.

Do you have more “Cass Details?”

I just really enjoy them so I wanted to ask!!!!

I always have~

This one is really tiny, but look. Raph cut off his claws so he wouldn't hurt the baby.

[joels-shitty-puns]

Could I make a request please?

Either a Joel or Pedro x Reader, where he is head over heels for the reader who is really bubbly and sweet and happy and a mom friend for everyone but who is oblivious to any romantic overtures whatsoever? And where Joel or Pedro catch them crying for the first time ever and they try and hide it and go back to cooking for the friend group or whatever and Joel/Pedro get the reader to open up about what made them cry and essentially it's that someone turned them down on a dating app and it's just further confirmation that the reader will never find love or actually be a mom? Plus-sized reader preferred but definitely not required? And your choice on if it's smutty or not.

I've been reading your plus sized reader x Pedro series and loving it!!! So much emotion and genuine positivity that I couldn't help but ask for more when I felt a bit down about this today.

All my best!

Dear @jenniferpendragon,

Hi!!! I've never had a request before, I didn't know what to do with myself. Thank you. And thank you so much for your kind words about my musician fic! I'm so glad people like it.

I'm sorry you were feeling down today. If by "this" you mean you experienced the dating app situation, I'm so sorry. Love is out there for you. I know how hard it is to wait, feeling like nobody wants you, but I know it'll happen. Hang in there. ❤️

I hope you like this fic! I liked your prompt and my mind ran wild. It's way longer than I thought it would be and also I'm unsure about it, but hopefully it makes you feel a little better.

___________

Cookies 'n Scream

Pairing: No-Outbreak!Joel Miller x Plus-sized!Reader

Word count: 4.3k

Warnings: 18+ ONLY!! MDNI. Poor body image, fat shaming, food guilt, food mentions, unprotected P in V, oral, kissing, fingering, pregnancy mention, baby making sex (?), I think that's all of it but if I missed something let me know.

Other stuff: Reader is AFAB. In case it isn't clear, italics almost always are the reader's inner thoughts!

This is the first smut I've ever written and published, yikes. Hope it's decent.

__________

"Look what I bought today," you chimed in a sing-song voice while waving the DVD in front of Joel. 

"No way. Zombie Slayer 6?!" Joel and Tommy yelled in unison.

"Yep! You know it!" you beamed. "I say tonight we pop this bad boy in. Tomorrow's Halloween, it's perfect."

"YES!" chimed in Sarah and Ellie, Joel's daughter and adopted daughter, roughly the same ages in their early teens.

"Absolutely not! You two are too young for this gore, you'll be up for weeks." Maria pointedly gave an eyebrow to her husband Tommy. "You guys watch the movie, I'll take the kids and we have a girl's night. We can watch Practical Magic and make cookies. Then tomorrow we'll all go trick-or-treating." The girls were pleased with this compromise and began running up to their bedrooms, chatting frantically about their costumes and which houses were allegedly going to have full-size candy bars this year.

"Really? Zombie movies? They're just kids. They aren't old enough to deal with that kind of thing," Maria said to you, judging your lack of parenting skills.

"Sorry…" you said sheepishly.

Truthfully, Halloween was your favorite holiday and always has been. You loved the spooky aspect of it, but you also loved that you could be anyone you wanted, if only for a night. For once you weren't just "the fat girl" or whatever other mean things people thought about you. You could be Wonder-Woman, or Ariel, the Grim Reaper, or a ghost. You could even eat all the sugary snacks you wanted and nobody questioned it, because Halloween was a time to indulge in candy.

If there's one thing you're sad you didn't get to enjoy on Halloween, it was the thought of being with someone you love. You'd always wanted someone to dress up in a couples costume together. Or go to a pumpkin patch for a cute little date and pick pumpkins together. You'd even dreamed about someday having a little pumpkin of your own. Picking out a little baby costume, taking them out door to door while they tried to say "trick or treat" but didn't quite know how to say such big words yet. The thought of them getting spooked by a scary decoration and running back to their daddy's arms. Your handsome brave husband, holding them close and shushing them, rubbing their little back to make it all okay. Finally the three of you would go home, tuck the little one in, sort through the candy and maybe take some for the parent tax. Then you'd flop down on the bed together before sharing a different kind of treat.

Knocking you out of your daydream, the girls ran down the stairs, backpacks on their backs, still loudly chatting about Halloween. You sighed, Maria taking the kids out towards her house.

Tommy clapped his hands together excitedly and grabbed his phone and keys. "I'm picking us up a pizza. You two better not start this damn movie without me," he warned, gesturing with his fingers from his eyes to yours and then across to his brother's before ducking out the door. You laughed and headed towards the kitchen, starting to make a quick batch of cookies before Tommy returned. Joel stood awkwardly trying to help, but mainly was just sneaking bites of dough. "Knock it off Joel! There won't be any cookies left with you around." You elbowed him while he popped another glob into his mouth with a laugh.

You rolled your eyes while he argued with you. "Whatever. My brother doesn't need these cookies anyway. He doesn't deserve your bakin', darlin'." He ate more dough.

You couldn't help but feel your chest flutter with butterflies at his nickname, but you tried to ignore them. "Oh yeah, and what about me?" You pouted up at him. "Don't I deserve any cookies?" 

He put his finger on his lip as if deep in thought. "Hmmm… I dunno darlin'. Not sure if I could handle you if you get much sweeter." He winked.

"But I guess you deserve some too.." he plopped a wad of dough into your mouth, running his finger on your lip as he pulled his hand away. 

You smiled, cheeks feeling warm, and chewing the soft, sugary dough.

"Oh, Joel. You're too much.." you avoided his eyes, looking down at the mixer and pretending to be busy with the cookies. 

Why can't I get a man like Joel? You thought to yourself.

Two years ago, you had moved into your new house and met your neighbors, Tommy and Maria, Maria still very pregnant at the time. The three of you became fast friends and it wasn't long before you met Tommy's brother Joel. You were instantly enamored with him. His curly brown hair, mixed with silvery gray streaks, and those deep, gorgeous chocolate brown eyes. Although he could be a grump at times, it was mainly with his brother or his job, and he never showed it towards you. To you he was as sweet as the cookies you were eating.

You instantly developed a little crush on him and it seemed like he was over at his brother's house, or yours, more often than not. The two of you spent time together alone as well, watching movies, talking, doing whatever. Things felt so simple with him, and you knew he would always be there if you needed help with anything. With him, you never felt fat. You never felt ugly. You didn't feel self-conscious. You were just you. He was just him. 

As your friendship progressed, your crush developed quickly into love. But you knew deep down there was no way he could ever feel the same. He was too handsome and charming to ever go for a woman like you, so you pushed down your feelings as best as you could, and even tried some dating apps to try and find someone else to fill the empty space in your heart.

What you didn't know was that Joel was absolutely head-over-heels, smitten with you, from the moment he laid eyes on you at his brother's backyard barbecue. Sure he loved his brother, but nobody wants to spend that much time at their sibling's house. He came over constantly, hoping to see you, until eventually you became close enough that he didn't have to make a scene at his brother's house to get your attention. He could just go to yours. 

Tommy constantly teased him about it, and Maria couldn't help but notice the way you looked at Joel either. Even the kids could tell. The girls loved you like a mother, though you'd never see it. It seemed that it was obvious to everyone but you and him. Joel would flirt, try to gently touch you, be sweet, but you never picked up on it. Although you never pushed away his attempts, you never seemed to reciprocate either, so Joel just figured you didn't like him that way. But he couldn't help flirting, touching, staring at you. And if you didn't protest, he didn't plan to stop. He couldn't if he tried.

While the two of you talked, the cookies, what was left of them, baked in the oven. Finally Tommy came in, two large pizzas in hand. "Now I better not see that movie playing! I warned you two."

He noticed the black television screen and wandered to the kitchen. "Good. You waited for me- oh man! You made cookies? My favorite," he said with grabby hands towards the first pan, still cooling on the stove. 

"Now, don't spoil your dinner. You just brought pizza home, let's eat." You shot a knowing look with Joel after the two of you were practically full already with cookie dough.

"Fine. Whatever, mom." Tommy took a plate from you, sliding a piece of pizza onto his plate and heading towards the couch.

_____ 

An hour into the movie, you were all full with pizza and dessert, Tommy in the sofa chair on the side, you and Joel settled into the love seat. You leaned towards his right side, his right arm over the back of your seat. A blanket covered the two of you, and his left hand was crossed over his lap on top of the blanket, hoping you would hold it if you got scared. Whenever a jump scare did happen, you didn't grab for him, but at the slightest flinch, he would palm your knee, rubbing his thumb over you to calm you down. Such a nice guy. I'm so lucky to have him as my friend.

Once when Joel did this, Tommy caught the sight out of the corner of his vision. He rolled his eyes and gave a gagging face. Joel gave him a quick angry brother stare that made Tommy turn back toward the film.

At some point, you felt your pocket buzz. Peering under the blanket at your screen, you saw the little heart notification, letting you know it was one of the dating apps you downloaded. Heart beating faster, you excused yourself saying you wanted to get a drink. Upon entering the kitchen, you quickly opened the notification with shaky hands. You had sent out at least a half dozen matches to people, all turned down the second they saw your profile. The most recent had sent a message as well. "Seriously? Ur gross. Good luck finding anyone to date you lmao." Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked down at your body and pinched the fat of your stomach. You had four apps and had sent countless requests, matches, and swipes. Even guys who were big themselves had turned you down. You looked in the kitchen at the pile of cookies, the mostly empty pizza boxes, the bowl of Halloween candy. If the boys weren't here, you'd toss it all in the trash. You suddenly felt self-conscious. Your clothes were tight, your body was heavy and flabby, and you almost felt nauseous. The first sting of tears welled at your eyes, and you dashed off to your bedroom, hoping to quell these emotions before anyone would notice. You weren't ready to go back to the living room.

After a couple minutes, Joel had paused the TV to wait for your return. "She probably had to pee or something. Said she was gettin' a drink." Tommy nodded and the two of them talked. After about ten minutes had passed, Joel began to worry. Even Tommy began to wonder and finally said "where'd your girlfriend end up? It's been a while."

Joel shook his head at Tommy's name for you, but got up off the couch. "I'll go see what's up." He walked into the kitchen and didn't see you, so he kept walking through the house before finally starting upstairs. "Darlin'? You okay?" He still didn't see you, but upon approaching your bedroom door, he heard a soft sniffle.

He gently tapped on the door with his index finger's knuckle. "Sweetheart?" Your sniffling stopped and you quickly wiped your eyes, trying to hide your tears as he slowly opened the door.

"Hey, sorry, I didn't mean to make you guys wait, I was just changing into some comfier clothes." He noticed you had switched from your favorite dress to some sweats and a baggy hoodie. You still looked beautiful to him, though he was a bit confused at the change. "I'll be right down, why don't you go start the movie again." He crossed the room to sit next to you on the bed. "I'm not going to start the movie. What's wrong, darlin'?" 

You pouted, trying to choke back more tears, but his gentle brown eyes made it hard to keep your emotions inside. Joel cupped your cheek, running his thumb gently under your eyes and catching a tear that made it past your walls. You'd never cried in front of Joel before. You made it a goal of yours to try and hide any sad emotions from people, especially him.

"I don't want to ruin the night, Joel. It's nothing. Let's just go back downstairs. I'll be right behind you."

Joel stood up and nodded his head, walking out the door and closing it gently behind him. 

You didn't think he'd actually leave. But it shouldn't surprise you. Who wouldn't leave you?

An aggressive sob ripped through your chest.

_____

Joel walked downstairs, joining his brother.

"You find her?" Tommy asked.

"Yeah I did. Look, she's not feeling too good right now. I think it's best we call it a night."

"Ah, man. She sick or somethin'?" Tommy asked.

"Yeah somethin' like that. I'll stay and take care of her. Can you maybe keep the kids tonight?" Joel answered, ushering Tommy out the door. Tommy gave him a look, but nodded and walked out the door towards his own house.

Joel closed the door behind him and walked back upstairs, stopping to grab a glass of water for you on the way. He knocked gently again before entering your bedroom, and you turned around, surprised to see him. "Joel? I thought you were watching the movie?"

"Nah, darlin' I could never leave you when you're upset. I sent Tommy home and he's gonna watch the girls tonight. Here, I brought you some water." He sat the water on the nightstand. "Now, you wanna tell me why you're cryin'?" He sat next to you, rubbing your back gently.

You took a sip of the water, set it back down on the nightstand, and sighed, looking down at your hands in your lap which held your cell phone.

"Well, I uh…" you cleared your throat gently. "I recently joined some dating apps..."

Joel's heart took a slight stab, but he pushed it down. You're the one needing comfort, not him.

"I guess, I dunno… I know it's kinda silly, but I've been feeling kinda lonely and y'know... I'm getting older. I'm running out of time to have babies. But, I really just want someone to call mine. Someone to laugh with and go on dates with and…" you tapered off, not wanting to admit your desire for cuddles, kisses, and love-making. 

"Oh, sweet girl," he held you in his arms. "That's nothing to feel shy or silly about. It's natural to want those things. But why are you cryin'? Did somethin' happen?"

"I just… I haven't gotten any matches. Everyone I've sent anything to has denied me, and-" you sniffled and Joel pulled you tighter. "Shh, shh, sweet girl, it's okay. Those people on those apps, they don't know what they're missin' out on. They don't see how beautiful and sweet y'are. They wouldn't know how to treat you right anyway. If they can't see how wonderful you are, they don't deserve to be with ya anyway."

"Thank you Joel…" you muttered. "But… it's not just that. I got a message when we were watching the movie and I went into the kitchen to read it, and-" you handed him your phone with a sniffle. Joel pulled away from you, holding the phone back a bit to read it with his bad vision. As he read it, his jaw and fists clenched. It may have been the first time Joel saw you cry, but it was also the first time Joel got angry when it was just the two of you.

"If I knew where this asshole little boy lived, I'd go over there right now and kick his ass for saying something like that to you" he seethed. "I can't believe anyone would say something like that to you."

You picked at a hangnail on your finger, still staring at your lap. Finally Joel took a breath and looked at you again. "Darlin'. You don't - you don't believe that guy do you?" He asked while rubbing your back again.

"Maybe…" you felt tears run down your cheeks. "I mean, he's right, isn't he? I'm not attractive or skinny. Nobody wants me, not even any of these guys on this app. Even the guys who aren't skinny don't want me either."

"Sweetheart. That's just not true. Look at me-" he lifted your chin with his left hand, right arm still holding you close. You hesitantly met his gaze, your wet eyes looking into his gentle browns. "Those men, if you even wanna call them that, they wouldn't know what beautiful was if it slapped them across the face. You're the most beautiful, sweet, funny woman I've ever met. Any man would be lucky to have you." He took a deep breath before admitting, "I'd be lucky to have you."

"What-?" You interrupted him.

"Darlin'... I never want to push your boundaries, but you don't see how often I flirt with you, tease you, and touch you? You don't see how smitten I am with you?" You frowned, brows furrowing as you picked through your memory. "I thought you were just a nice guy. Just a friend. I didn't… I didn't think you could ever like me as more than a friend, so I just ignored the butterflies I got around you." 

You searched his eyes, waiting for a joke, or your alarm to go off and wake you up from this dream.

"Sweetheart, I've been in love with you since just about the time I saw you walk across my brother's lawn towards me. I just figured y'wasn't interested in me that way."

"Joel," you laughed. "I've felt the same way."

He smiled, once again tilting your chin, yet this time pressing his lips to yours. The kiss was gentle, but held so much love and meaning, that the two of you couldn't help but smile in the middle of it. He pulled away, "and by the way, y'aren't old either. If anyone's old here, it's me. But if you want babies, I'll give you all the babies you want. But you already got two girls who love you. Sometimes I think they even love y'more than me," he laughed.

You smiled at him and nodded "I do love those girls like they're my own. But I would still like a little baby someday too."

He kissed you again, more passionately this time, licking your lip until you opened up and let your tongues dance together. He pulled away, running his nose across your jaw before stopping at your ear. "Only one way to give you that, darlin'." He gently bit your earlobe before kissing down your neck. 

You sighed. "Joel… please."

"Please, what darlin'?" He purred, kissing your clavicle through your baggy shirt. 

"Please, make love to me" you answered breathlessly, tipping your head back so he could better access your neck. 

"Take these baggy clothes off then, baby. Lemme see you," he gave you one last kiss on the lips before the two of you began undressing, stopping every few seconds to share grabby kisses. Once undressed, he pulled you into him and kissed you deeply, your hands on his chest. With a swift move, he tumbled the two of you sideways so that you were now on the bed, him on his back and you straddling his hips. You leaned down, kissing his lips, while the slight movement against his waist caused you both to moan at the feeling. "Baby I've wanted this for so long. Let me take care of you," Joel whispered, thumb stroking your cheek. He flipped the two of you over, slithering down towards your waist, where you spread your legs for him. He groaned, looking at how evident it was you wanted him, pumping his already hard cock a few times. Flattening himself on his stomach, he gently touched your thighs and began to kiss your legs. "Y'sure you still want this, baby?" 

"Yes Joel, please" you answered, tense with anticipation. Without a beat, he tipped his head down, licking a stripe up your slit. You let out a sigh, hips bucking toward his face. "I know baby, I know." His low timbre vibrated through your core. He gave a quick peck to your clit before swirling his tongue around it and heading downwards, licking between your folds while his nose continued to put pressure on your clit.

His fingers slid through, touching your entrance in a questioning way. "Yes, Joel, please" you cried, wiggling closer, your hands tugging at his hair. 

With your pleas, he inserted his finger, curling upwards before adding a second and finally hitting that spot inside you that made your breathing catch in your chest. He stroked, while still licking gently, occasionally sucking on your clit. Before long you were gripping the sheets with one hand, his hair in your other, as you finally tumbled into your orgasm. "So beautiful, baby" he coaxed, licking you through the waves of pleasure. 

"Think you're ready for me?" He looked up at you over your plush tummy. "Yes, Joel, please I'm so ready."

He stalked over your body, kissing his way up. He kissed your vulva, "I love this," he purred. He kissed your stomach, running his hands across your sides. "I love this," he licked. "I love these," he massaged your breasts, kissing each nipple. "I love you" he finally looked you in the eyes, kissing you on the lips deeply. 

"I love you too." You kissed him back, running your hands through his messy hair, down his broad shoulders and back. His hand snaked around, grabbing his cock and giving a few strokes through your folds until he was wet enough. Finally he pushed against your entrance, slowly entering you, giving you enough time to adjust to his size. Your fingers clawed at his back as he finally pushed all the way in, the two of you sighing in relief. 

Your body adjusted, and with a kiss to his nose, you prompted him to move. "Okay Joel, I'm ready."

Slowly, he began to thrust, pulling slowly out and gently pushing back in, eventually picking up to a pleasurable pace. He kissed you like his lips couldn't be away for longer than a few seconds, and it didn't take much before you were barreling towards your second release of the evening. "I'm almost there, Joel" you kissed, grabbing him around his back. "Me too, baby. Come for me." His thrusts were getting sloppy, but you could tell he was holding himself back for you. His fingers drifted over your clit, giving a few circular strokes and causing you to shudder around him, your eyes slamming shut with a moan. He followed right behind you, a couple messy strokes before pumping into you, filling you up and working you both through it. As the two of you came down from your high, he kissed you passionately, holding you like you were the only thing in the world. 

The two of you lay on your sides, you snuggled into his chest, his chin resting on your head before eventually he became soft and slipped out of you. You both sighed at the loss, but held each other until you rolled out to use the restroom and clean up. When you returned from the bathroom, you asked if he wanted to stay and he said yes. 

You lent him an extra toothbrush and the two of you stood side by side, brushing your teeth and stealing glances at each other in the mirror with matching lovesick smiles. Things felt domestic and comfortable as the two of you walked back to bed, sharing soft kisses snuggled to each other. Having completely forgotten why you were upset earlier, you fell asleep curled into his arms, full of love and hope for the future with a man you loved. 

_____

The next morning, you woke up to the smell of coffee brewing and breakfast cooking. You strolled down the stairs and saw Joel, wearing just his boxers and tee shirt, grabbing a slice of toast from the toaster. 

At the sound of your steps, he turned and smiled softly. "Morning, baby."

"Good morning, handsome," you replied, pressing a kiss to his lips. 

"I could get used to that," Joel replied, squeezing your ass and pulling his face away to look in your eyes.

"Joel! You devil," you giggled, gently smacking his arm. "You ain't seen nothing yet, baby" he nibbled your jaw.

After the two of you ate breakfast, you shared a shower, and he threw on a pair of extra clothes he keeps in his car. It would be hard to keep his visit a secret from his brother with his car still in your driveway, but as far as Tommy was concerned, you were sick and Joel was taking care of you.

The two of you made the walk over to Tommy's house to get the girls and participate in Halloween activities for the day. Walking in the door, Tommy pulled you into a hug. "Hey, we were worried about you! Are you feeling better? Were you sick?"

You looked up at Joel, sharing a knowing look. "I was just a little upset about something, but I'm feeling much better now," you smiled. 

Tommy gasped. "FINALLY!!!!" He threw his hands in the air while Maria grinned. 

"Cough it up Tommy!" Sarah held out her hand to her uncle. "You know I had October." He handed her a five dollar bill.

"You bet money on us?" Joel asked in disbelief, rubbing your back. 

"Obviously. You guys have both been pining since you first met," Ellie answered, rolling her eyes. "It was too entertaining for us to interfere though," Sarah added with a smirk.

You stared down at your shoes, feeling embarrassed, but Joel grabbed your hand. You smiled up at him and it felt like everything was aligned. "Yep, we finally took the step. And now I get to do this whenever I want," Joel pulled you into his arms for a deep kiss. 

"UGH. GROSS, DAD." Ellie and Sarah groaned, walking out of the room.

You both laughed, sharing a smile and heading towards the group to get ready for Halloween with your family.

[rius-cave]

Okay this can be a quite triggering idea but it's been in my head for ages now so I got myself to write it down. It's about severe physical injuries and mutilation so yeah I think it's better to clarify that-

So basically it's another Sinner Adam stuff, if he was reborn in hell and sinners found out who he is they will immediately go after him there's no doubt. In he's weakened state they would have their revenge. So what if they actually catch him? And this is hell, so sinners don't play around.

What if one day Lucifer has to open his door to be met with Adam's sinner form? But that's not the creepy part - the unsettling thing is that the man doesn't speak. He just stares. Lucifer invites him in, he just sits down. He offers him a glass of water or anything, Adam doesn't accept. No matter what Lucifer says or asks, he doesn't speak at all. It starts to get creepy, but Lucifer doesn't know what's going on. His body is hidden under his usual robe, and sure, he looks quite worn and beaten, he looks traumatized.

But there's much more to that. Lucifer has to realize that Adam doesn't speak because he's physically unable to. The sinners muted him (I didn't really think through how but it's possible I'm sure and it's fiction anyways so... Just for the gore lol)

But not only that, they severely injured him, to the extent of cutting/tearing his wings off. Discovering that would be quite a shock to Lucifer - how was this guy even able to come to his place on two legs???

Then he would have to deal with him, take care of him, help him heal (I mean he could surely heal Adam, he's an extremely powerful entity but if we suppose that he can't just heal him like that, at least not completely, or that it takes a lot of energy so he can't just help in one go it becomes more deep lol.) Besides, it's up to our imagination of to what extent could Adam heal. I see it as he would be definitely able to get his voice back, but... His wings? I mean, if they were cut off with angelic steel they won't grow back right..?

Either way it would end up being hurt/comforf. Oh and Lucifer would have to deal with Adam's psychological trauma too. Maybe it's hurt/hurt. Nevermind.

Oooo yeah I've heard of stories where a sinner Adam is basically just... Tortured and tortured to death over and over again before even reaching the hotel. Sometimes it's a bit too grim even for me but I absolutely understand the narrative purpose of it. I do think being a bit beat up would do Adam some good gkslglslgd. I'm sorry baby boy, the character development demands it 😔

I'd actually be interested in something like that happening well AFTER Adam and Lucifer meet again though. Like, if it happened right after Adam falls, I don't think Lucifer would actually give much of a shit about him. For the comfort to actually happen and all that, they'd need to have already passed through the initial hurdle of, well, everything else lol

[yandere-writer-momo]

Monster F-er Presents: Grimm’s Darling Fairy Tales!

A mix between Brother’s Grim and Disney Movies brings you the magic of sweet dArK adorable, and heartwarming PoSsEsSiVe romance between the Darling Reader and the main character/s of each story! Including magic, dEaTh fantasy, GoRe and finding your true love! yOu BeLoNg To ThEm-

As your being forced against your will to stay and never having the chance to go home-

So stay for awhile! Either lay down in bed or sit in a chair and read each and every story, until it satisfies you to your heart’s content! WhY aRe YoU cRyInG?

You can’t leave, why would you want to leave??? Is there someone who’s making you scared? Who is it?! We’ll KILL them so they’ll never bother you again!! WHERE ARE YOU RUNNING!?!??!!!

ErRoR eRrOr ErRoR

What do you think? I tried to do a spine-chiller type of thing here (I don’t know if it was good or not since this is the first time doing it) with a few ideas on some classic Fairy Tales but with some Rizzy Twists (Or Twists you think would work better)

Sorry if that was creepy or not creepy enough (Did you get some Goosebumps?)

If you’re curios, I can send you the Starring List of Each Baki Character with the star; Darling Reader! (It’s just the Name Titles and ‘Star Actors’ for each Story, along with the simple Plot Line, but with a Twist!)

Example;

Little Darling Hood

Characters: Reader (As ‘Little’ short Darling Hood as the cute little baker, who comes to Jack’s ‘aid’ not realizing her mistake)

Jack (As the Hunter/Lumberjack of the town that lives deep in the woods all alone secretly the infamous Big Bad Werewolf that terrorizes nearby villages by devouring their cattle, livestock and foolish hunters that think they can kill him)

Plot: Jack Hanma is the Hunter and Lumberjack of the small village and falls sick, but his size and stoic demeanor makes everyone too afraid to help him, except for sweet and kind Reader, who decides to go to his cabin to take care of him! (With a basket full of medicine, pastries and the meat and vegetables he gave her as a gift yesterday)

However, Reader doesn’t realize that ‘poor’ Jack isn’t sick, but he’s actually in his Heat Cycle trying to stay away from said cute baker to not scare her (But now that she’s in his cabin, he’s going to devour her whole, and not in the way she thinks)

Jack please be gentle, you wouldn’t want to scare your mate would you? Let her know she’s safe, after all she accepted your proposal! That’s why she came to you with the food you gave her before your cycle started, to show you can provide for her better than anyone else, and she came to CARE for you, like a kind and loving mate should do!

And before you ask, YES Jack will look a cross between Human and Werewolf at the moment (He looks bigger to, but it’s his very soft and fluffy fur that makes him look beefier than he usually looks, which is covering his entire body minus some of his face)

I hope this wasn’t weird (My ADHD is running wild right now and I can’t stop it) Proceeds to stare into the distance with a deranged look realizing how much of a freak I really am I really like your stuff and I’m know for getting to hyper-fixated on things I really like (Your writing is the stuff I like)

Another potential fic to add to my queue.

My WIPs so far

Kizaki x fem!reader x Yandere Hanayama 🌶️

Yeti Sikorsky x Sacrificial Bride reader x Dwarf Gaia

Orc Jack Hanma x princess reader (450 special)

Biscuit Oliva x Sugar baby reader 🌶️

Werewolf Jack x R.R.H reader 🌶️

Collab with @de4thbl4de 💕 (might hold a poll for who we should write about)

[anhed-nia]

BLOGTOBER 10/18/2022: BLOODLINE (2018)

Spoilers be here.

Sometimes I have to include a movie in my Blogtober program just to be like, "Have you guys seen this shit?!" BLOODLINE is a real oddball, and even if it isn't going to be my favorite discovery of the season, it's the kind of thing I love to stumble upon: A thriller starring a known Hollywood quantity that offers a perplexing blend of ponderous philosophizing and lowdown sleaze.

Seann William Scott, whose name I have been misspelling, plays Evan Cole, a caring social worker who counsels at-risk high school students in the suburbs. At home, his gorgeous Italian wife Lauren (Mariela Garriga) has just given him a little boy, whom he also councils out loud at night. Evan is so devoted to the young because of his own abusive childhood, but social service and fatherhood are not the only outlets for his lingering angst: He is also a serial murderer who takes out his rage on the school district's bad dads.

By now you may feel like you have a handle on the tone of this thing, but it's actually very slippery. Having read the plot summary, I wondered if I were watching the wrong movie when it begins with a graphic shower scene at the end of which a hot, naked nurse is brutally slashed to death by an unseen killer. But no, soon enough we're introduced to Evan's world as expected, where the children of pedophiles, selfish drug addicts, and violent bigots are are surreptitiously freed from their torments by their righteously indignant guidance counselor. The film's CHILD'S PLAY-like color palate enforces a sense of stunted youth, as Evan is most confident in the company or service of children. Meanwhile at home, he struggles with the tension between his wife and his mother Marie (the inimitable Dale Dickie), who battle for supremacy over both Evan and the baby.

The extreme violence with which Evan dispatches a series of cartoon bad guys seems to stand in ironic juxtaposition to the his infantilized status at home, but actually, all this material is a part of the same continuum. The ultimate question of BLOODLINE is not about whether Evan can grow up and manage his subverted frustrations in a more mature way before he gets in too much trouble; it's about whether Lauren is going to be able to get with the program, as she slowly begins to realize what's going on. As it turns out, Evan and Marie are both serial killers, her career having started with Evan's bad dad. Therefore, innocent Lauren is the aberrant one, and her aversion to violence translates to disloyalty to the family—even disloyalty to her husband's whole ethos, which requires him to abandon her and their baby at night to "help" other families. Lauren doesn't have the benefit of Evan and Marie's solidarity, as she is said to have no family at all, having survived her youth by doing things no one dares to mention. Suddenly, it starts to feel like it's really Evan's beautiful young wife who has lost the plot, lacking the philosophical fortitude and sense of commitment enjoyed by her husband and mother-in-law. From there, the movie proceeds accordingly.

I'm not totally sure what BLOODLINE wants from me. It seems to make the mistake of hanging its entire existence on an ironic twist to which all other narrative elements are subservient. The ostensible hero needs no character arc as long as the point of the movie is just to make sure everyone else is on his side. All the gesturing about familial integrity seems kind of silly when it's interspersed with spurting gore effects (and a particularly hilarious and audacious "live birth" scene), and it becomes less and less convincing as the family takes the lives of less and less guilty victims. It's as if TEXAS CHAINSAW has been transplanted to the 'burbs, and the audience is meant to hope with all our hearts that they get to preserve their way of life. With all that said, I have the impression that BLOODLINE would work better as a comedy instead of being so relentless grim—something I practically never prefer! But in the meantime, I enjoy the feeling of being baffled, and of being led to this bizarre conclusion.

[animeyanderelover]

Whoo, requests are open! Can I get Azusa Mukami, Ash Launders, Lau, and Grell Sutcliff with a darling who's a ghost, or something akin to one? Thank you, please take your time with this and remember to take breaks when you need to!

I recently talked about this with my friend, but both of us are amazed with how popular Ash actually is. He suddenly became so beloved in here. Not that I complain😏.

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessiveness, obsessiveness, delusions, paranoia, self-harming behavior, kidnapping, killing

Ghost s/o

Grell Sutcliff

🟥Grell is a grim reaper and for that probably met ghosts quite a few times ago. Ghosts are souls from people who didn’t find peace yet and whilst humans can’t see ghosts most of the time, other supernatural creatures can. Grell feels sometimes a bit sorry for ghosts whose souls are tight to this world until whatever doesn’t allow them to Rest In Peace is solved. There are exceptions though, it isn’t unheard that even after the issue was solved, ghosts decided to stay, mainly because they started enjoying life as an undead once again. So at one point such examples were counted in the supernatural community as well.

🟥If her darling should be a pure ghost, it depends on whether they still try to find a way out of this world or are one of those who decided to live forever as a ghost. If it’s the first one, she would definitely try to make her darling enjoy life once again since she doesn’t want them to leave. She wants to give them happiness once again and would try about everything to make them feel joy again. If it’s the latter case, she would switch from a worried mother mode in a totally fascinated one. She did meet ghosts before, but normally they are more of loners since they grief over whatever they couldn’t finish during life. So having a darling as ghost makes her more interested since ghosts aren’t that known to other magical beings.

🟥Hopefully you know how to manifest yourself or else Grell will get really pouty since she’s clingy. A ghost can learn to materialize their body so others can touch them even though that takes practice. Girl loves you just very much to the extent where she often wants to jump on you and tackle you in a hug after a boring day of work...which ends with her being met with the ground of you don’t know how to control it or did it on purpose. It also tends to scare her a bit if you suddenly pop somewhere up without her knowing since you can just walk through objects. There was this one time where you were looking for her, ending with your head popping up through the ground right in front of her. And Grell might be able to handle, blood, zombies and other gore stuff, but not this. It ended with her screaming startled.

🟥If you’re not dead, but just possess the possibilities of a ghost, the whole walking through walls and turning invisible stuff, you’re most likely a hybrid because believe it or not, in materialized form ghosts can create or bear children too. And half breeds have been since the earliest days always been a more risky topic. Many creatures are still lacking the openness to accept persons from two different kinds since many are still in the classic belief that only the same species should have children together. It leads her to being more overprotective over you since she doesn’t want you to endure hatred and racism from others. She’s fiercely overprotective in that regard.

Lau

🚢He has a weird fascination with such things, at least in my opinion. He might only be human, but he has awareness of the more otherworldly creatures on this planet and his assistant, Ran Mao, herself appears to be some sort of superhuman as well. He has probably heard a lot of ghost stories before, either from his own country or here, in England. And he is somewhat good in telling when a story was just made up so the person could suddenly gain attention or if there is a spark of truth in it. He has a nose for stuff like this and actually likes listening to such stories.

🚢So expect his obsession to very quickly grow if his darling should be a ghost even though he would hold himself back if they are unhappy due to their unfinished business. He is manipulative and is also, despite being good in hiding it from his darling, very greedy and mercenary. He might not show it, but he has every intention to make his darling stay with him, even if that means ensuring that whatever they need to do in this world will never be finished. If you are that kind of ghost who’s happy with their new life, he would be much more open with his curiosity, expressing his interest in your abilities and also backstory. Especially if you should be a lot more older than your appearance gives away, he would be keen on your story. If it should happen that you were murdered and the killer is still alive, that guy will join your kind maybe very soon if they have regrets in their life.

🚢He’s also interested in how your anatomy works since he’s an expert in it. He of course wouldn’t use you like some test subject, but he is just kind of interested how you are able to turn your whole body in one moment in something thinner than air and in the next moment into something that appears to be flesh and blood again. He also kind of likes it to touch through you since your transparent body has a certain coldness around it which gives him goosebumps. It’s a great contrast to when you have materialized and are in possession of a warm body which leads him to being even more touchy than usual. Lau finds it also always very amusing whenever you suddenly appear out of thin air, your abilities are such a breath of fresh air for him. He tends to be a bit surprised, but is good in hiding it with his usual mysterious smile.

🚢He can only guess that a half-ghost like you are one isn’t very beloved in this world. Lau of course doesn’t think you, he finds it highly interesting that you are a mix from two different species, he never thought ghosts could actually create babies. If there’s the possibility, he would like to meet your parents and talk with them, especially the parent who’s the ghost. It kind of leads him to wanting to isolate you a bit since he doesn’t want some other creature trying to kill you since different from a normal ghost you can get hurt by weapons and die like a normal human even though it’s harder to do.

Ash Landers

▫️Whilst he definitely is informed about all the other magical beings existing in this world, he stays away from pretty much everyone, even his own kind. Ash is just embossed from his obsession with purity and doesn’t think of anyone as really worth living since everyone is tainted by greed, lust, sloth and other unspeakable sins. He even hates his own kind since many angels protect the exact lowlife he wants to get rid off, believing that every life deserves living and given a chance. He is somewhat alone with his crazy goals, but he doesn’t mind.

▫️I think Ash with a ghost darling isn’t a very good mix, a horrible if I’m being honest. For the simple reason that you already died and merely your soul remains on this planet, either because of your own free will or because you carry a burden with you. You’re dead. That should say everything to why Ash is experiencing the true deepness of madness and terror someone could never possibly begin to imagine. He failed, he pathetically and utterly failed to protect the only person who actually deserved a happy and good life. It makes his whole life shatter, next to his already screwed up sanity. It does not matter if you were killed, died in an accident or because of a deadly sickness. The village you lived in will be blamed and slaughtered by him.

▫️He’s horrible to act with this because I have this terrible thought that he will not only not allow you to leave, but also desperately try to search for ways to somehow get your soul back into your body or will find a vessel in which you can live. He does not care if you want it or not, he doesn’t even really care if you’re happy or not. Dead is dead and he wants you alive. He would get incredibly prone and torn apart if you yell and cry at him that you don’t want it, that you want to die finally in peace or like being a ghost. You just don’t understand!! HE HAS TO MAKE SURE YOU’RE ALIVE AGAIN!!!

▫️With you being only something akin to a ghost, a hybrid in here, the situation would still be very tangled, but a bit less than with you being an actual ghost. I see Ash as someone who usually despises hybrids, but you are made the only exception from this. It isn’t worth saying that he isolates you since he would do this in all scenarios, even though he also does it in here due to fearing that someone might talk down to you because of your unidentified species. He kind of thinks he’s the only one who can truly cherish you for your whole beauty. You might have an advantage since you can just sneak past him whilst invisible, question is if you’re heartless enough to let innocents suffer under this because Ash can and will burn whole cities down if it leads him to getting you back.

Azusa Mukami

🔪I don’t think he ever met ghosts or other otherworldly creatures before even though he lived a pretty long life. It stands even open to question if he is aware of the existence such other creatures. Whilst he does know that vampires exist, he himself is a half-blooded one, he is not really too informed about other creatures and might even not really cared about it anyways before meeting his s/o. His brothers on the other hand considered the fact of other magical beings on this planet.

🔪He is saddened that you are already dead, it doesn’t matter since how long you’ve already been. It’s still very upsetting for him, especially if you should be mourning over something you couldn’t do in your life as well. I do see him as someone who might actually possess the selflessness to let you go if you’re really desperate despite knowing he’ll die without you. So it’s up to his brothers to find ways to bind you to this earth because they’re scared what Azusa will do if you should ever disappear and leave him alone for eternity. With a darling who likes their current body and is satisfied with themselves, Azusa will be happy as well and be in love with you and your fascinating powers.

🔪But please let him touch you. He is clingy and likes having physical contact with you and if you aren’t able to manifest yourself and hurt him, he will become overtime more desperate. His brother also realize the problem with you being able to escape anytime you want from them except if you make this place your new place to haunt for eternity which all of them hope. Whilst he does like feeling your actual warmth and body, he still finds your ghostly form appearing, the feeling of cold and lingering touches everywhere and yet nowhere at the same time. I do not know if ghosts possess blood or anything like this, I doubt it. So that means at least you don’t have to worry about him eventually giving in to temptation.

🔪He will never be able to understand if someone should dislike his s/o if they should be somewhat of a half breed. As I mentioned, I don’t think he really cared much about the possibility of other beings existing and certainly not a mix made from more than one species. It does add up to his worshipper tendencies since apparently people like you are not very common. He thinks you’re wonderful. As a half-ghost you might have blood inside of you, if it’s from a human is another thing to discuss. But Azusa is from all vampires the one who wouldn’t want to suck your blood, even if it drives him crazy. And even if his brothers try to force him, you can abandon your materialized form anytime for your ghost body. You give Azusa’s brothers honestly a bit of a hard time with your abilities, it’s mocking for them in a way.

[souvenirsofsurgery]

a few of my favorite disturbing horror movies

morbid and gross stuff <3 this isn't the worst of the worst, I think most of these are probably safe for people who are just getting into more disturbing horror. You're not gonna see, like, Vomit Enema Ecstasy or anything on here, lol. Still, tread carefully! Blanket TWs for things like suicide, self harm, and sexual assault, I'd look into the individual films more closely if you're worried about potentially upsetting material.

Also, most of these are not in English. I noted what language each of them are in, but they all also have English subtitles available!

Anyway here you go:

1. Martyrs (French)

A young woman's quest for revenge against the people who kidnapped and tormented her as a child leads her and a friend, who is also a victim of child abuse, on a terrifying journey into a living hell of depravity. (via IMDb)

Why I find it disturbing: Deeply depressing. The gore might be bad but the crushing of your soul is much worse. Extreme depictions of trauma, guilt, and GRAPHIC self harm.

I've seen objectively more fucked up movies since I first watched this one, but I honestly don't think anything has hit me quite like Martyrs. It made me feel hollow and empty inside lol. Excellent film, if you can handle it I definitely recommend it.

2. Ichi the Killer (Japanese + a little English)

As sadomasochistic yakuza enforcer Kakihara searches for his missing boss he comes across Ichi, a repressed and psychotic killer who may be able to inflict levels of pain that Kakihara has only dreamed of achieving. (via IMDb)

Why I find it disturbing: Gross! Nasty! Vile!

This one is much more comedic in tone than my last pick. It probably won't upset you emotionally, but it'll gross you out and shock you, and show you some borderline unacceptable content.

3. Eden Lake (English)

Refusing to let anything spoil their romantic weekend break, a young couple confront a gang of loutish youths with terrifyingly brutal consequences. (via IMDb)

Why I find it disturbing: Children doing terrible violence. Grim, bleak nihilism.

The ending of this movie cemented it deep in my soul and hurt me very bad :)

4. Inside (French)

Four months after the death of her husband, a woman on the brink of motherhood is tormented in her home by a strange woman who wants her unborn baby. (via IMDb)

Why I find it disturbing: Gore and blood! She's stabbing people with those bigass scissors and you see ALL of it.

Probably my favorite home invasion movie, it's got great tension. It's also just so so nasty <3

5. The Sadness (Mandarin)

A young couple trying to reunite amid a city ravaged by a plague that turns its victims into deranged, bloodthirsty sadists. (via IMDb)

Why I find it disturbing: Like the description says, lots of sadistic violence.

"Zombie" action horror, but nastier than anything else I've seen in the subgenre. They really go all the way.

6. Art of the Devil 2 (Thai)

A group of high school friends reunite after two years when one of their fathers' committed suicide. They all spend the night at their friend's place. When darkness falls, strange things begin to happen to them one by one. It is as if someone is using the black arts on them in revenge for an act this group of friends committed together back at high school. (via IMDb, but specifically someone named Ploy P. bc IMDb doesn't provide an official description. Thank you Ploy P.!)

Why I find it disturbing: Nasty and gross, very visceral to me.

This is actually from a popular Thai horror series, but you can watch it as a stand-alone (it's the best one IMO). I love anything about curses and black magic and the repercussions of using them, so this is just right up my alley. And it's got an awesome atmosphere!

[mostlycompetentwriter]

Phobia (one-shot)

Pairing: OC (female character) x Bang Chan (SKZ)

Warnings: suggestions of smut, violence, language, mentions of blood and gore

Genre: Mafia AU; Marriage AU

Word Count: 4K

Summary: He found her when she was nothing - disgraced by her family and cast aside as an outsider. Yet, Chan made her feel wanted for the first time in her life, in more ways than one, which leads to countless nights of passionate love...until their worst fears come to fruition. 

A/N: Chan, you will always be a perfect husband to me. Thank you for coming to my short Ted Talk.

This time when he came home, he was covered in blood...

I almost broke down in the foyer at the sight of him, but Chan was quick to reassure me, shaking me by the shoulders as he patiently explained that it wasn’t his blood - there was a shooting at their exchange, but neither Chan nor his men had been injured. Of course, it doesn’t stop me from leading him upstairs, drawing a warm bath in our shared en-suite while fussing over the state of Chan’s suit, or what was left of it. His pale skin was apparent behind the black fabric of his dress pants, and there were long tears in his shirt. 

Needless to say, I threw all of those blood-stained clothes away before urging him into the bathtub, carefully kneeling down onto my knees as I started dragging a soft cloth over his skin. Chan moaned in delight, throwing back his head against the shower tiles while he allowed me to fuss over him - to reassure myself that he was okay, and that the horrific image of my husband standing in front of me drenched in blood was nothing more than a terrible memory.

I softly ran my fingers through his blond-hair, working through the tangles while being mindful of his eyes, using my hand to move his head back when I used a pitcher to wash the shampoo out of his delicate curls. “Hey,” Chan said, voice hoarse from overuse as he watched me drag his hand out of the bath water, working on the dirt and grim under his fingernails. 

I paused when I fingered across his wedding band. “Don’t come home like that ever again.”

I could feel Chan looking at me, and there was a lot of regret in his eyes, but I didn’t feel any remorse over my sharp tone. “I’m sorry, babygirl,” he said. “They were shooting at Felix and I-”

“You don’t have to justify your work to me,” I interrupted him. “I know the risks, but I never want to see something like that when I’ve been waiting for you.”

Chan nodded, and I shifted back when he sat up in the bathtub, allowing sensual rivulets of water to climb down the toned expanse of his chest and stomach. Meanwhile, I used the towel holder to help myself stand up, grabbing a spare towel for Chan, and trying to ignore how red the water remained after my husband had climbed out to wrap the towel around his waist.

Afterward, I allowed Chan some privacy in the bathroom while I returned to our bedroom, crawling into bed while remaining mindful of my stomach - the evidence of life bloating the skin. I took a deep breath, smoothing my hands along the exposed flesh, and I knew that it was bad to feel any kind of stress while I was pregnant. Unfortunately, my husband’s chosen line of work never made things easier.

Eventually, Chan joined me on the bed, leaving the towel hanging loosely from his hips while he shot me a concerned glance. “Are you feeling okay?” he asked, and his eyes immediately dropped.

“I’ll tell you in the morning,” I said, and I looked over at him as Chan slid one hand around my waist, holding me and our unborn child protectively.

“You’re right about everything, baby girl,” he said. “I’ll never scare you like that again.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” I warned him, but Chan shook his head sternly, keeping me close before landing a soft kiss to the edge of my lips.

“I have a lot to clean-up tomorrow,” he said. “Work might take awhile.”

I sighed in return, looking up at the ceiling. “Wake me up before you go.”

Past

When Chan and I first met, his ledger wasn’t nearly as red. He actually served my family, taking on small cases with his friends, Jisung and Changbin, in service to my father. However, he had started to garner a reputation for being a quick hand and a good shot when it came to using guns, and Jisung and Changbin provided the perfect support for their little unit.

My father considered Chan to be one of his favorite apprentices, and he even approved of my early relationship with Chan. Despite my tendency to rebel against my father’s chosen favorites, I couldn’t resist Chan’s dark persona and contagious personality. He could probably talk the wealthiest man into giving away half of his fortune once he listened to Chan’s cunning words. 

On our first date, he showed me how to count cards in the Casino that my father owned, and after only three weeks of dating, he fucked me so hard in the backseat of his car that I saw stars after almost passing out from the pleasure.

We technically met in my father’s office because I had stormed in on one of their meetings unannounced, ready to confront my father because he had forced my youngest brother, Jeongin, to attend some lousy military school. Jeongin had cried for the entirety of the days leading up to his unwanted departure, and I had stood outside on the porch fuming as he was taken away from me.

But my father was really good at screwing over the members of his family, and I had finally had enough of his intervention. However, I also remembered hesitating when I saw Chan standing next to my father’s desk, freshly dyed hair glowing under the Chandelier. “Oh, it’s you,” my father grumbled. “What the hell do you want?”

“Nothing,” I said in return, maintaining eye-contact with Chan as I retreated from the office. 

Later that day, I asked my mother about Chan, and she told me that she didn’t know much about him, other than the fact that his parents had been killed in a raid - probably from my father’s doing - and he was serving our family. “Your father seems to like him,” my mother said, and it was only one of the very few times in her life that she had told the truth. 

Thereafter, I developed an unfavorable opinion of Chan since my father liked him, but it didn’t take Chan very long to change my mind and prove me wrong. He wasn’t blindly loyal to the man who destroyed his family - he was cold and methodical, and he told me how he planned to eventually break away from my father and form his own business with Jisung and Changbin. He spoke so passionately that it was hard not to fall in love with the burning look in his dark eyes. 

From then on, we became close to one another, sharing our deepest fears and desires, and we weren’t afraid to demonstrate our affection for one another. I was actually happy for once, which meant that something had to go wrong in my life. And it turned out that one of my father’s business partners was threatening our family because we owed them a lot of money, and my father planned to pay his debt by doing something rather despicable: selling me into their service.

It was humiliating, and I knew exactly what I would become working for a family that was notorious for its influence in the adult entertainment industry. I was enraged that my family would sentence me to that kind of life, but I wasn’t nearly as upset as Chan. We had been together for six months, and Chan had already started to include me in his future plans...the exchange was unacceptable.

So, on the night when my family planned to sell me to their rivals, Chan and I drove away in one of the cars that we stole from my father, bringing along Jisung and Changbin who fired off rounds of bullets from the windows as we escaped into the solitude of the night. Consequently, my family disowned me, snatching my last name and removing me from the family tree. But it never concerned me, especially when Chan offered me his last name instead, vowing his loyalty by exchanging intimate vows and marrying me on a warm, spring afternoon. When he fucked me that same night, he whispered sweet little nothings that contradicted the filthy way that his hips moved against mine, driving his cock deep inside.

After that, the two of us were inseparable - a dynamic duo that was ready to take the underground mafia world by storm...

Present

Before the sun had completely risen, Chan was stumbling out of bed with exhaustion written across his wearied countenance. I watched him move around the room, admiring the hard planes of his back as he dressed himself in the usual combination of black dress pants and a white button-up shirt. Chan claimed that it was important to look his best when it involved meeting with our rivals.

I closed my eyes when he neared my bedside, and I could feel him leaning down to press soft kisses to my forehead, fingers trailing across my stomach before he was leaving our bedroom with a heavy sigh. I swallowed hard against a sudden wave of emotions, remembering his appearance from the previous night, and the same restless anxiety managed to bleed its way around my heart.

Graciously, I managed to eventually fall back asleep, but it was only for a few hours because I was brought back to reality by the sound of the fire alarm blaring throughout the house. I groaned in complaint, throwing off the sheets before grabbing my dress robes and trudging downstairs. 

As I grew closer to the commotion, I could hear two men loudly arguing from one of the adjoining rooms, attempting to be heard over the sound of the annoying alarm. When I walked into the kitchen, I wrinkled my nose at the burning smell from the stove, waving my hand to clear the smoke. And standing at the center of the drama was Chan’s younger brother, Felix, as he engaged in a heated argument with my brother, Jeongin. “It’s your fault!” I heard Felix say. “You can’t cook bacon like that!”

“I told you to watch the pan!” Jeongin retaliated, and I rolled my eyes at their immature behavior.

“Hey!” I yelled, forcing both of them to pause. “Can you seriously not do this right now?”

Felix was the first to notice me, pointing an accusing finger at Jeongin. “Hey, he started it!”

I closed my eyes. “How old are you again?”

It was a surprise to me that they had both managed to live with us this long without engaging in more than just verbal altercations. After Chan and I rescued Jeongin from his cruel military academy, my husband invited him to join the organization. At first, I was hesitant of the decision, but Chan never invited Jeongin out on missions with them. Instead, he and Felix did most of the reconnaissance work from behind the scenes, and Jeongin was remarkably good with computers. Maybe he wasn’t on par with Felix’s hacking skills, but my younger brother continued to expand his skill set because she was determined to be the best.

Unfortunately, working in close proximity to one another on a regular basis inevitably led to numerous arguments. They were both strong-willed and stubborn, and neither Jeongin nor Felix was capable of flexibility, especially when it meant admitting that they were wrong. So, they often argued over trivial things, and I was usually left around to mend their bruised egos.

But a cooking dispute? At this hour? I shook my head because I didn’t have the patience to deal with them. “Leave the pan and go upstairs. I’ll take care of everything.”

Felix and Jeongin shot each other nasty glares as they obeyed, and I waited until they were gone before opening the windows in the kitchen and resetting the fire alarm. Finally, I turned my attention to the mess on the stove, cleaning with an exaggerated sigh. It was moments like this that made me long for the days when I used to accompany Chan on some of his missions...

Past

Chan only ever brought me along with him when he felt that a situation was incapable of turning violent, and he liked having me around to distract lesser men as he talked them into agreeing with anything that he said. I, of course, liked being helpful to my husband, and I always played my part well. For example, dressing in low-cut affairs that tended to produce insatiable responses from my husband who loved to drag me into his lap.

It made me feel powerful, arching my back as Chan ran one of his hands down my waist. “Look at your tits,” Chan said, stroking his fingers across the swell of my breasts. “Gorgeous.”

I beamed at his compliment, allowing him to handle as he liked while Chan turned to finally address the impatient man sitting across from us. “Are you ready?”

“I’ve been waiting all night,” the man said with a challenging stare.

“My apologies,” Chan smirked. “I’ve been rather busy.”

“I can see that,” the man said, but his smirk suggested that he wasn’t entirely understanding of Chan’s delayed commitment. Apparently, Chan was trying to sign some kind of arms deal with him, and my husband was very greedy when it came to our money. 

“I have my price listed,” Chan said, shoving the contract at the other man. “You can sign at the bottom.”

“Isn’t this a bit cheap?” the man asked. “The cost of labor alone is barely covered by your...generous offering.”

“It’s my final compromise,” Chan said, feigning boredom as he tugged at the neckline of my dress. “What do you say?”

“How about one night with your whore?” the man asked, leaning in across the table to reveal two rows of slimy teeth.

Immediately, I could feel the way that Chan tensed from underneath me, and his eyes narrowed as he looked at the man. “I hope you’re not referring to my wife.”

The man chuckled. “What difference does it make?”

Chan was quiet for a moment, and I saw a myriad of emotions reflected in his narrowed eyes. “Baby girl,” he eventually said while looking at me. “Why don’t you go get us some drinks?”

I nodded my head, scrambling to find my footing as I left the comfort of Chan’s lap to retrace my steps to the bar at the opposite end of the club. The bartender recognized me, sliding two beers in my direction with a smile before sending me on my way.

However, I suddenly paused when I started to approach our table, realizing that Chan had wanted to keep me away for a valid reason. He had also drawn a crowd of onlookers who watched as my husband smashed our target’s face into a pile of broken glass on the table. There was already so much blood, and Chan’s eyes were wild with his rage. He was also flanked by Jisung and Changbin whose fingers wrapped around the handles of their weapons. “You learned a lesson tonight, didn’t you?” Chan growled, grabbing the man by his collar to toss him into the floor. I winced when Chan’s heeled boot pressed down against the man’s throat, and his hands immediately wrapped themselves around my husband’s leg as he choked. 

There was every reason to feel horrified, watching my husband handle a man with so much violence while surrounded by blood and gore. But I didn’t feel scared. Instead, I smiled as I stood aside with our drinks, watching the action unfold with greedy eyes.

Present

It was late, and I could feel myself growing anxious. I passed the time by pacing the floor, resisting the urge to run into the other room and demand an update from Jeongin and Felix. They were playing a pivotal role in tonight’s mission, and they didn’t need my distraction.

But I could tell that something was wrong. The clock was ticking away loudly in the background, and every instinct was screaming at me to call my husband and demand his whereabouts. “Come on,” I muttered, hugging my arms around my stomach as I was prone to do these days.

Sleep wasn’t an option. Becaus my mind was a chaotic mess of restless thoughts and horrible scenarios flashing across my eyes. What if something bad happened to Chan?

I couldn’t stand it anymore. He had always promised me that he would come home, but it felt shallow on nights like this. Because life never promised any guarantees, especially when you put yourself in harms way on a regular basis.

I was approaching my wits end when Jeongin burst into my room with wide eyes. “What is it?” I snapped at him, allowing my frustration to boil over like a steaming kettle.

“We have to go to the hospital,” Jeongin said, and he somehow managed to catch me before I collapsed in the floor.

Past

But I suddenly couldn’t breathe, looking down at the seemingly mundane object in my hand. It was forecasting a fate that neither Chan nor myself had planned for our future. Something that could be dangerous in our world, and I already feared for my unborn child’s life.

However, it wasn’t something that I could hide - a secret to hold onto because it wouldn’t bear any consequences. This changed everything, and I had no idea how to tell Chan when I saw him later that evening. We had plans to have dinner together, and he looked divine as always, dressed impeccably with his hair slicked back, and perhaps to anyone else he would appear perfectly put together. But I knew better than most.

“How was work?” I asked, staring down at my dinner plate because I had lost my appetite.

“It was fine,” Chan said, shoveling another spoonful of mashed potatoes into his mouth like it was his last meal on Earth. “What did you do while I was gone?”

“Not much,” I said, hesitating as I looked down at the pregnancy test in my lap. “Felix kept me entertained.”

“As long as he’s staying out of trouble,” Chan said, reclining back in his chair as he looked at me from over the table. “You look beautiful tonight.”

“Thank you,” I said, and my tone was quiet and uncertain, but Chan must’ve had a billion other thoughts on his mind because he didn’t comment on my mood.

“I’m not busy tomorrow,” Chan said. “We can do whatever you want.”

It made my heart swell with affection to hear him say that since I knew that he was either lying or exaggerating. Because Chan never had any free time. “Channie,” I started, “I have something to tell you.”

Chan adjusted the sleeves of his shirt, revealing his forearms. “What is it?”

I bit my tongue, wrapping my fingers around the pregnancy test as I carefully brought it onto the table. There were so many ways that I could tell him, but nothing seemed to sound correct inside my head, and I was fumbling with an explanation. However, when I met Chan’s sweet smile and kind eyes, I managed to latch onto an inkling of confidence, finding my voice the longer we continued to look at one another. “I’m pregnant,” I whispered to Chan, watching him carefully as he listened.

His eyes widened almost imperceptibly, and I would’ve never noticed if I wasn’t paying such close attention. But then he noticed the test I had brought resting on top of the table. “It was positive,” he said, almost like an observation.

“Yeah,” I said with a nod, waiting with bated breath as he folded his arms across his chest - and it was a vulnerable position.

Eventually, Chan stood up from the table, and I shivered when I thought that he might leave the room, but he instead came to stand behind me, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. “We’ll make it work, baby girl,” he said, holding me like I was something fragile that he needed to protect. There were tears in my eyes before I could hold them back, and Chan was kneeling on the floor and looking at me with so much love. “I’m gonna give you the world,” he promised, and it was a solemn declaration, sealed with a kiss to my shirt-covered stomach.

Present

Time was a social construct, and we can feel its effects most profoundly in the moments when it feels like it might run out before we can do anything to stop the inevitable. In desperation, we struggle to breach the surface of the water and take a much-needed deep breath - but there’s only so much that we can do for the things beyond our control. Yet, we still try to remedy them, and I found myself pacing anxiously outside of his hospital room, ignoring the suggestions from his other members to relax and sit down. Because my mind was incapable of settling down, and I could only chant the words, he can’t die, as they repeated over and over again inside my head, remembering how the doctor looked at me when I confronted him.

“We’ll do the best we can,” the doctor had told me, but it wasn’t good enough.

I was on the edge of total self-destruction, and maybe it was the first time that I finally realized just how affected I would be without Chan. Because the world would be so cold without him next to my side, and I couldn’t bear the thought of facing that oblivion of darkness.

He had to keep living for me...

“Mrs. Bang,” a nurse said, pulling my attention to the smiling woman approaching me. “You can see him now.”

I sniffled and nodded, following the nurse as she led me to Chan’s room, feeling my heart grow lighter with every step in the right direction. Until I was confronted with Chan’s familiar presence, watching me from his hospital bed, and I was on cloud nine as I rushed to him. Wrapping my arms around him as I cried softly into his shoulder. “Channie,” I whimpered, pulling back to press my lips against his for the necessary reassurance of his touch.

“I’m okay,” he said. “Everything’s fine.”

I shook my head because the fear was still there - lingering at the edges of my subconscious, acting as a reminder of the utter dread that I had experienced when Jeongin first told me that Chan was somewhere I never wanted to see him. “I thought you were gone,” I whispered, grabbing his hands to ground myself in this reality with Chan, surviving the impossible for another day. “This is my worst fear, Chan,” I continued. “That you won’t come home, and our kid will grow up without their father.”

Chan sighed, and I noticed that his eyes were swollen around the rims, and there were unshed tears waiting to fall. “I’m sorry,” he said. 

“It can’t happen again,” I told him sternly, hoping I looked more fierce than I felt on the inside. Because Chan needed to be explicitly told these things in the only way that he would understand.

“I’ll always do my best for you,” he said, and I realized that his tone was thick with emotion and the unsaid words between us that we were both still too afraid to vocalize.

“I love you, Chan,” I said. “I know you like the work that you do, but I think it might be time to take on less responsibilities.”

“You’re right,” he said, looking up at me with a sad smile. “I’ll do anything to make you happy.”

“I just need you,” I said, allowing him to pull me onto the bed next to him, and we both savored the silence humming throughout the room and the familiar presence of the person who we needed more than anything else in this cruel world. 

[pallasperilous]

Funny Bone

The other day Supernatural9917 threw out this meme as a cracky Halloween Dean/Cas prompt and I was SO MAD, because I then had to write it:

And so here it is. Goddammit.

Funny Bone

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26761150 Words: 4930 Castiel/Dean Winchester Fluff and Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Skeletons, Bad Pick-Up Lines, No Angels AU, Men of Letters Bunker, Mild Gore Mature (mentions of lewd acts, canon-typical violence, and some truly horrible pickup lines)

It wasn’t even a particularly creepy skeleton; it was in kind of a “just chillin’” pose on the floor. One ankle was still locked up in a heavy iron cuff, at the end of a short chain leading back to the wall. Snoresville, as dead stuff goes; Dean’s seen worse at Disneyland. It was the skeleton’s comment about Dean’s ass that really livened things up.

Discovering the bunker in the first place was a helluva surprise. The whole facility is legitimately batshit; Dead Guys of Letters knew how to live (and, apparently, die. All at once.).

But after plowing through a dozen rooms worth of priceless treasures and crusty boobytraps, even Sam was looking kinda full up on shock and awe.

“We can hit the basement tomorrow,” he said. There was a big smudge of dust across his nose and some cobwebs in his hair.

“Nuh uh,” Dean answered, kicking the door shut with the toe of his boot. “If there’s shit still kicking down there, we gotta clean it out before it cleans us out. It’s that or we’re sleepin’ in the car.”

“Ugh,” Sam said, as if twenty minutes ago he hadn’t been losing his mind over a rare book about werewolf hemorrhoids.

So discovering that the basement included a no-shit actual dungeon felt more like an unanticipated bonus, and stumbling across a skeleton while exploring it barely even registered. Skeletons and dungeons! They go together like rama lama lama ka dinga da dinga dong.

It wasn’t even a particularly creepy skeleton; it was in kind of a “just chillin’” pose on the floor, inside a big circle of greasy black ash.  It looked a little mildewy in in places. One ankle was still locked up in a heavy iron cuff, at the end of a short chain leading back to the wall. Snoresville, as dead stuff goes; Dean’s seen worse at Disneyland.

It was the skeleton’s comment about Dean’s ass that really livened things up.

“Welp,” Dean had said, holstering his gun and wiping his hands on his jeans. “We’re all clear. Let’s head back upstairs, salt the shit out of everything, and then we can pick up some groceries.”

“Do I get to buy a vegetable that doesn’t fit in a bun, or are we still in the refractory period?” Sam snarked from the corridor.

“I don’t see you cookin’, “ Dean started, shuffling back towards the hall, and that’s when the skeleton butted in.

“Are those astronaut pants?” it asked. “Because your ass is outta this world!”

Dean absolutely did not scream, but it’s possible there was a yelp. 

He almost unloaded a clip into it – unclear what that would’ve possibly done, but it’s good to start with the simple, available solutions. Next he nabbed the lighter fluid off of Sam and dumped out half a pound of kosher salt as a chaser and set the fucker alight.

This does not have the intended effect.

“Baby, I’d like to put my meat on your grill,” the skeleton says, greenish flames dancing between its ribs, “because you’re hot, and I’m smokin’.” Then it sits up a little, just enough to shoot Dean some finger guns.

“What the fuck,” Dean says.

Sam makes a little evaluatory noise. “Sexually harassed by a skeleton,” he chuckles. “I think that’s a new one. Even for you. Is that a new one? I know a lot of strange shit went down in Purgatory.”

The skeleton perks up even more at that, grungy eye sockets sweeping up and down Dean’s body. “Are you a time traveler?” it asks. (Maybe he asks, because the voice is pretty deep and dude-ish, although possibly just on account of its vocal cords being leather shoelaces.)

“Wh…no, I’m not a time traveler,” Dean fibs. He’s more of a time trafficking victim, anyway. “Oh, wait, god,” he says. “Please don’t tell me you’re asking that because –“

“– I can see you in my future,” the skeleton finishes, eagerly, and Dean really wishes this thing had eyebrows so he could tell if they’re waggling.

“Yeah, okay. That’s enough for today,” Dean groans. “I need a drink.” He starts to back out of the room as a pre-emptive strike against Bones commenting on how he hates to see Dean leave, but loves to watch him go. Dean’s working on stumbling back again Sam’s left shoe when the skeleton pipes up one last time, this time with a husky, anxious edge.

“I realize that Purgatory isn’t accessible through a simple chronological shift,” it says, teeth chattering. “But it does require travel between modalities, and if you’re capable of that, I would very much like to speak with you again.”

Dean and Sam’s heads slowly swivel back towards the skeleton, like two little pizzas on the same Lazy Susan.

 An hour later, they’re still in the dungeon, working on dousing the skeleton with every possible anti-bad-stuff solution they’ve got, just in case he’s a vampire skeleton or a ghoul skeleton or a witch skeleton or maybe just a wendigo that’s incredibly bad at its job. In between progress reports, he’s still hitting on Dean.

“Dude, don’t you have an off switch somewhere?” Dean asks him.

“Well, Dean, you certainly make me feel like a light switch,–“

“– because you turn me on,” all three of them say in unison.

The skeleton looks a little embarrassed, which is kind of impressive when you think about it. “You’ve…heard that one before?” he asks.

“I spend a lot of time in bars,” Dean deadpans. “Okay, sage is a no-go.”

Sam strikes a line off on the clipboard he found upstairs. “Is this part of a curse or something?” he asks, glancing up at Bones. “Like on top of being a sentient skeleton, you can only speak in horrible pickup lines?”

The skeleton shakes his head, which produces a sound Dean recognizes from his kneecaps on cold mornings. “No, the spellwork allows me to speak freely on most subjects; except who I am, or how to free me. But it’s helpful to use language modern humans can easily understand.”

“Huh. Well, in a way, it is Dean’s native tongue,” Sam says, smirking.

“You shut your face,” Dean hisses.

“When I first saw you, I lost my tongue. Can I try yours on for size?” Bones asks Dean.

“Buddy, I don’t know where you get your information from, but nobody actually talks that way,” Dean tells him. “Nobody sober, anyway. Who isn’t a virgin.”

The skeleton slumps. “I learned from my last visitor. He tried to release me on several occasions, but he either died or abandoned the project.”

Dean arches a brow. “The project being…you?”

“I would be very valuable under the right circumstances.” The skeleton shrugs and casually holds out an arm for Dean to scrape at with the demon blade. “He gave me lessons in modern vernacular as a way to pass our time together.”

“Sounds like a peach,” Dean says, before he can catch himself. “If you have a peach-related pickup line in there, man, you’d better just sit on it.”

“That’s what-“

“I will smash you with a hammer,” Dean barks.

The skeleton relents, but with obvious reluctance.

 They call it quits before Kansas rolls up the sidewalk for the night and leaves them stranded with nothing but two Clif bars and a gross of septuagenarian cans of franks ’n beans. Bones shifts nervously when Dean leaves – “Which is better, pancakes or waffles?” he asks.

“Pancakes,” Dean says, with a sense of grim duty.

“Because I’d like to know what you’re making me for breakfast,” says Bones, his voice trailing off as Dean books it down the stony corridor.

  By lunch the next day (bologna sandwiches, so sue him, he’ll make something good later) they’re pretty sure that Bones doesn’t pose any known, immediate threat – other than to Dean’s sanity – so they switch gears to springing him. Maybe he will be worth something, or maybe he’ll crumble into dust and Be Free, or maybe he’ll just stop being chained to the basement wall, in which case he can become their skeleton butler or something.

There are weird runes on the ankle cuff, so Sam snaps some quick photos and heads upstairs to feel up the library. This leaves Dean in the basement with Bones, some good old-fashioned power tools, and Bones’s ex-suitor’s gross sense of humor.

“You know I can understand you just fine when you’re talking normally,” Dean says. “You’re just reciting some prehistoric shit that idiots say to girls to get a pity-laugh, hoping it leads to a pity-fuck.”

“What’s a pity-fuck?” Bones asks, all mildewy innocence. Dean’s pretty sure the grunge in his eyeball sockets is dried eyeball.

“Pretty much what it says on the tin, my guy,” Dean answers, and reaches for the acetylene torch.

 “Enochian,” Sam says, when Dean surfaces for another sandwich and possibly a beer. He’s really disappointed about the torch.

“Gesundheit?” Dean replies, around a mouthful of bologna. Like everything else here, the kitchen is pretty schwa, although the inside of the fridge required three exorcisms and half a jug of bleach.

Sam paws around the smelly old book in a way that makes Dean feel sorry for the girls Sam dated in high school. “The symbols on the cuff. I think they’re Enochian. It’s a fake celestial language made up by some sixteenth century con artists.”

Dean coughs up a bit of Wonder Bread. “I respect the hustle, but what’s it doing on an ankle cuff in a dungeon younger than Mickey Mouse?”

Sam frowns. “Well, it could be for show. But just because some nutbars made it up doesn’t mean it’s totally powerless. Maybe it does have some kind of…heavenly mojo.”

“Liwl probbem,” Dean observes, finishing off his sandwich. “Def nuh heggen.”

“Huh?”

Dean takes a swallow of beer. “I said: there’s no heaven.”

Sam shrugs. “We didn’t think there was a Purgatory, either.”

“Okay, but if we find out angels are real,” Dean snorts, “then Bones can fuck me in the ass.”

 Sam reports his findings to Bones, who sits placidly on the back of his pelvis, carpals splayed out on his kneecaps. What’s even holding him together? Dean can see what’s left of his ligaments, but they look like petrified gas station jerky.

“Do you know what they mean?” Sam asks him, pointing at the sigils.

Bones’s jaw creaks open a little, then closes again, and then he shakes his skull (something rattles inside.) Finally he makes a little frustrated noise and replies – “Baby, are you a book? Because I’d like to check you out.”

“Hey!” says Dean. “Keep it in your pants, man, I’m right here.”

Sam squints. “I think…Dean, I think he’s trying to tell us something, but the spell on him means he can’t say it directly.”

Bones clenches his fists, releases them, clenches them again.

“Yeah. Keep him talking. Let’s see how close he can get.”

Clack clack clack.

“Uh,” Dean says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay. Do I need to, like. Give you some kinda opening?” he asks Bones.

“Sweetheart, I’d like nothing better,” Bones answers, then clacks his knuckles on his brow with exasperation.

“Sorry, Christ. Hit me with your best shot, buddy. Dealer’s choice.”

Bones clears his…ghost throat? and tries: “Tell me, Dean…did it hurt?”

Dean blinks. “When I…fell from heaven?”

Sam claps his hands. “Fucking knew it. It is Enochian, and it does have something to do with this. I think he wants me to check the library for another book. Maybe there’s one misshelved or something that I can actually use to translate. Or I can Google around, maybe there’s a subreddit.”

Dean’s pretty sure Bones has never heard of a Google or a subreddit (for that matter, does Dean actually know what a subreddit is?), but it seems like there’s a glimmer of hope deep in those scum-holes.

 Sam gets translations for a few of the words – “obedience” and something he’s fifty percent sure means “millstone” – but the rest is still gobbledygook, and he hasn’t come down with another update in hours. The dungeon is pretty roomy, but it’s not like there’s a foosball table or a cable TV pickup down there, so Dean and Bones wind up lying on the cold-ass ground, staring up into the dark reaches of the ceiling together and, like. Chatting.

Occasionally Bones goes quiet and Dean glances over at him. He really could just be a totally normal, completely dead dungeon skeleton. A good power washing and the right mounting hardware and he’d be ready for a high school biology classroom.

“So if these runes are a celestial thing, does that mean you’re some kinda demonic...thing?” Dean asks. “Cause I gotta say, you’re a much less of a douche than the demons I’ve met.” He snorts. “I know you probably can’t say.”

Bones sighs (how? With what lungs?). “The last person who tried to free me was a demon.” He shifts a little, maybe surprised that he can say this out loud. “It had been so long since somebody had spoken to me…I’m afraid I came close to actually enjoying his company. But he was no better than his kind usually are.”

“Don’t suppose you caught his name? Maybe Sam or me killed him for you already.”

“He called himself—no, I can’t say it.” He makes a sound resembling a harumph.

Then his skull creaks over to look at Dean. “Does your name start with ‘C’?” he says, very deliberately.

Dean is momentarily puzzled, but he works it out by the time Bones wincingly adds “…because I’ve got a D that wants to come behind you.”

There aren’t too many demons under the “C” tab in Dean’s blood-stained mental rolodex, and when he says the name out loud, Bones makes a sound like an entire set of dominos being thrown down a spiral staircase.

  Crowley is pretty pissed, which is fun.

It’s nice that the dungeon floor already has a perfect trap on the floor; they don’t even have to hit up Ace Hardware for paint. A damp shop cloth and a little nail polish (Wet ’n Wild in “Red Red,” don’t leave home without it) brings it right up to working order.

“Why does it smell like a nail salon fucked a bloody wine cellar?” Crowley says, after he’s settled down a bit. He manifested right in the creepy torture chair (in the shackles, even! What service!) and he made some escape attempts followed by angry noises about rust stains. Now he’s recovered his dignity and has kicked back a bit, legs crossed, fingers steepled, oozing maximum levels of 2 cool 4 school.

“How do you know what a nail salon smells like?” Dean retorts.

“I get a monthly mani-pedi. There’s no shame in a little self-care, boys.” Crowley’s eyes trickle down to their feet. “Imagine what fungal horrors those work boots must conceal.” Then he squints, and looks up, finally taking in the whole room. “Could swear I’ve been here before. Little upscale for you, isn’t it? Did we splurge for a vacation rental?”

“Crowley, why don’t we roleplay Titanic?” Bones growls from the wall behind him, and Crowley’s face goes slack. “I’ll be the iceberg, and you can go down.”

Crowley swallows and slowly twists back, as far as the shackles let him. “Feathers, is that you? Well, as I live and breathe.”

“You do neither,” says Bones, with so much gravelly contempt that Dean suppresses a little shiver.

“Oh, I still breathe now and then, when the mood takes me. I’m a sentimentalist.” Crowley cranes his neck a little harder and squints into the dim. “Goodness, you’ve dropped some weight since we last spoke, haven’t you. Finally let go of all that pesky soft tissue?”

Bones tilts forward and kind of clatters onto hands and knees, then tipsily begins to rise up to standing. Dean’s a little concerned he’s gonna topple right over and they’re gonna spend the next two hours collecting him in a basket, but when he moves to help out, Bones waves him off. After a couple false starts he makes it up onto his feet bones and then shuffles out to the end of his chain, right under one of the overhead lights. He’s still a good couple feet off from Crowley, but Crowley looks like he wouldn’t mind a few extra acres.

Bones sways a little bit, just enough for Crowley to wince. “You didn’t come back.”

“I got busy.”

Sam shifts impatiently. “What is he?” he snaps, gesturing at Bones.

“Exceedingly dull,” Crowley says. “I should’ve guessed you were friends.”

Dean uncorks a fresh bottle of holy water.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Crowley amends, quickly. “And even if you did, you wouldn’t know what to do with him. It’d be like giving a laptop to a pair of howler monkeys.”

Dean puts his thumb over the mouth of the water bottle and holds it over Crowley’s head. “Try me.”

Crowley scoffs, rolls his eyes. “It doesn’t matter what he is, since he’s useless as long as he’s chained up. And I wouldn’t have left him down here if I had a single clue how to smuggle him out.  I haven’t even been in here since the Bay of Pigs; I’d worked a loophole in one of the defense spells here that let me in. When it broke down, I lost my exploit. Wasn’t worth the bother after that.”

Dean slides his thumb a millimeter north of a perfect seal, and a fat drop of water busts its ass open on Crowley’s forehead and sends up a thin line of steam. “Good thing I’ve got a limitless supply of bother,” Dean notes. “Sam, we still got those syringes in the trunk?”

Crowley snarls. “Go ahead and melt me like the cartoon shoe in Roger Rabbit, it’s not going magically make me come up with a solution.”

Bones grunts and rattles his leg chain. “Do you speak Spanish, Crowley? Because you look like the Juan for me.”

“Did I teach you that one? You absolute xylophone.” Crowley glances back at Dean. “Do your worst, Squirrel, I deserve it.”

Sam frowns. “He uses the lines to get around the spell’s speech restrictions. This is something about speaking languages…were you able translate the Enochian symbols on his cuff?”

Crowley blinks. “What symbols?”

 After a whole lot of faffing around with mirrors and terrible cellphone photography, they confirm that Crowley can’t see the symbols at all.

“More demon-proofing. Clever little buggers, those Men of Letters,” Crowley sighs. “A real shame they were peeled and eaten like bananas.”

Finally Sam just hunkers down with a pencil and pad to transcribe the entire ankle cuff, and Dean awkwardly holds up Bones’s ankle, like he’s being sized for a glass slipper. When they shove the results in Crowley’s face, Dean watches his eyes dart along the words.

“Well, it’s your lucky day, boys. Along with the usual wankery, there are instructions on how to release the cuff. I can translate it,” he finally says, with an unusually low inflection of bullshit, “but I’ll thank you to release me, first.”

Dean is flummoxed. “What, you’re not gonna haggle for a cut of the profits or anything?”

“Activating the release mechanism will free him completely, and restore his…restore him. I’d rather be at a safe distance.” He glances back at Bones, looming in the shadows. “A continent or three should do the trick.”

“If it doesn’t work–“

“I’d be more worried about what happens if it does,” Crowley sighs.  “But feel free to summon me back for tea and sympathy. Here, I’ll even give you my number. But please, no personal photography. I pity you enough as it is.”

  Crowley finally smokes out, and Dean has a beer to celebrate while Sam looks over the list of what they need and Bones clatters his fingertips like castanets. The ingredients are (as always) larded with shit that’s exotic and expensive; Sam is looking crestfallen at some of the items. “I’ve heard of all of this, but I’ve only seen maybe half of it for sale anywhere.”

“Baby, are you a yard sale? Because you’ve got some serious junk in that trunk,” Bones monotones. He’s back to lying on the floor.

At least it’s getting easier to translate this shit. “They’ve got all the ingredients here somewhere,” Dean says. Sam looks skeptical. “C’mon, Sam, no way these dudes would use a lock when they didn’t have the key.”

The ensuing scavenger hunt takes a few pints of elbow grease, but at least by the end they’re both familiar with the Bunker’s floor plan, document filing system, and inventory records. They find virtually everything in-house, though they do end up driving to the nearest farm stand for some hen’s eggs and rosemary (and heirloom tomatoes, because they look bomb).

Dean christens – or maybe exorcises – the kitchen range with some red meat, and they fuel up with burgers before taking the plunge. Dean’s still licking the ketchup off his fingers when Bones pipes up one last time. “Can I ask you something?” he says.

Dean and Sam brace for impact.

Bones sighs. “That’s not the start of a pickup line. I genuinely have a question.”

“Shoot.”

“Why are you so intent on freeing me? You could have just left me down here. I’m not a threat this way. You only have Crowley’s word that you might profit - or suffer - from my release.”

Sam gives Dean a look; it’s the look that says I sure hope you have an answer, because I think this entire thing has been dumb as shit and half as necessary. It’s a look Sam uses pretty regularly.

“Uh. It’s the right thing to do? As far as I can tell, you haven’t hurt anybody or done anything else to deserve being down here. We went through all those records upstairs, and there’s no note that says ‘by the way, that skeleton downstairs eats babies for breakfast.’ This place is cool, but the dudes who built it were obviously shady as fuck.”

“I see.” Bones sounds a little disappointed.

Sam fake-coughs into his hand, and Dean sets down his paper napkin. “Also, you seem cool. Like, you’re easy to hang out with. Other than the stinky one-liners, and we’re gonna wean you off of those.”

Bones straightens himself out a little. “Thank you, Dean. You know, on a scale of one to ten, I’d rate you a nine.”

“Okay, okay. Why not a ten?”

Bones sets his chin on his knuckle bones with a tidy little clack. “Because I’m the one you’re missing.”

Dean groans, but he thinks the guy might be smiling, somewhere behind that skeletal grin.

 By hour two, Sam’s pretty tuckered out from pulverizing a billion and three mummified dove livers while reciting nonsense syllables, and Dean’s right arm is about to fall off from holding up this giant silver swizzle stick that’s either a really weird short sword or a decorative javelin, but Bones has never looked perkier. He’s lying on a nice white bedsheet and looking fresh as a recently exhumed daisy.

“Okay,” Sam rasps. “Light the candle and we should be good to go. Any last words, Bones?”

“Are either of you religious?” He crosses his arm bones over each other.

“Fuck no,” Dean answers, before Sam gets a chance to launch into it.

Bones shakes his skull fondly. “You should reconsider. Because you’re the answer to my prayers.”

Dean makes a gagging noise and lights the candle.

 What happens next (well, after the cuff pops open) is some of the freakiest shit that Dean has ever seen, and his Freaky CV is pretty fucking impressive, thanks. Bones tells them to avert their eyes, “just in case”, but he takes a peek between his fingers anyway, because he’s an idiot.

For a second Bones is just lying there, and Dean has a second of real disappointment that maybe he’s Moved On Past The Veil or something, but then he starts…foaming. It starts out kind of uniform and colorless, but then it really picks up speed and volume and starts to separate into swaths of distinct and horrible colors and textures. He closes his eyes again for a second to give his stomach a chance to reboot, and when he looks again the foam is gone, and instead there’s a whole lot of angry jelly trying to form into organs.

Just as the jelly is really getting its shit together and looking more like lungs and intestines and stuff, the heart-jelly pulses once and sends out a fistful of big squishy vines…veins? and a fat white worm of nerve scrambles down the spinal column and starts putting out franchises. This is followed by some disturbingly tasty-looking red sheets of muscle that swiftly sheathe over all the whole scene, and then the muscles start sweating out fat and cartilage and this is the point where Dean decides that looking away is actually definitely one hundred percent for the best. Even then, the sounds are tough to handle.

Kinda wild: he’s seen people taken apart, but watching one get put back together is somehow gnarlier. Well, if this guy is even a person. It’s a human skeleton, sure, but god knows even Mickey Rourke has one under there.

Finally everything seems to have quieted down.

“How you doin’ over there, Bones?” Dean asks, and dares to take a peek.

Bones is crouched down in front of them, fists balled up in the bedsheets (it’s a relief that the bedsheets didn’t get accidentally sucked into the muscle layer or something, like one of those surgeons who leaves a sponge behind). Dean sees white guy skin and some dark messy hair and gets the gist of a decent build.

The face slowly cranes upwards, and Dean is really truly ready for anything here; tusks, fangs, Klingon forehead ridges, gingivitis. Instead he gets a faceful of hot math teacher. Bones’s eyes are still closed, but he’s frowning like he’s mentally reviewing his strategy to explain the quadratic equation to a roomful of horny teens.

He slowly rises to standing (yikes! Naked! Dean is a Moderately Bad Man, so he glances, but just long enough to register “nice), uncurling slowly and carefully.

Then he’s all the way up. Bones squares his shoulders and straightens the last kink in his spine, and the frown resolves. Dean’s about to say something, when his eyes snap open, and this cold white light absolutely blasts out of them, and fuck, Crowley wasn’t kidding: this guy is definitely A Thing. The whole room flattens and distorts in the light. Shadows race up the walls like they’re looking for a way out, then snap together into the shape of enormous ragged wings, stretching thirty feet higher than the actual ceiling clearance.

Then the light dies down; the wings fade into regular-grade shadows. Instead of a terrifying unearthly avatar of Oh Shit, Dean’s looking at a buck naked thirty-something math teacher. Who happens to be an unearthly avatar of Oh Shit. And has nice eyes.

“My name is Castiel, angel of the Lord, Seraph of the First Shield,” the avatar says, in a piss-shakingly resonant version of Bones’s voice.

Then: “Do you speak English, Dean?”

“Yes?” Dean fumbles.

“So do I,” says Castiel, and smiles.

Then he makes finger-guns.

  Castiel sticks around for a grand total of five minutes before he’s suddenly gone again, because angels are (a) real and they can (b) teleport? at (c) any moment because (d) fuck you, then he reappears six hours later (clothed) standing over Dean’s bed, having apparently forgotten that humans like to sleep; this time Dean does shoot him, but luckily he doesn’t seem to take it personally.   

“I located Crowley,” Bo- Castiel says. The silver sword-javelin thing is sitting on the kitchen counter in front of him; apparently it’s an Angel Blade and it lives in Castiel’s coat sleeve and can vaporize demons. It doesn’t look like it has any Crowley on it, but maybe it’s self-cleaning.

“Did you kill him?” Dean asks, now that he’s semi-coherent and wrapped around a cup of coffee in the kitchen.

“Not this time,” Cas answers. “He did help, after all.”

“Sure,” says Dean.

“You don’t need to let me fuck you in the ass, either,” Castiel says, and Dean honks some coffee up the back of his nose.

“Oh,” he gasps. “Okay. Cool. Thanks. Didn’t realize you could hear that convo all the way down there.”

“Angels have excellent hearing. Mine wasn’t impacted by the spell.”

Dean can think of at least three very private moments Castiel almost definitely could hear every instant of, and longs for death. Or maybe not, since apparently this guy lives in Heaven and could hear him there, too. “Great. Good to know. Noted.”

“But…” Castiel looks wistful.

“What?” Dean nudges him. Dean Winchester: angel nudger.

Castiel frowns. “If I said…” he stops himself. “This is…what I want to say is very irregular, at least between angels and humans.”

“Jesus christ on a goddamn pogo stick, man. It’s three in the morning, some of us have a circadian rhythm and a limited lifespan. Say whatever it is you gotta say.”

Castiel looks up and drowns Dean in his swimming pool eyes, which Dean has learned belong to a radio ad salesman in Illinois, who Castiel possessed a few years back before jumping several decades into the past to run some errands and getting rope-a-doped by the Men of Letters and then warehoused in their basement; after they all spontaneously bought the farm, he just slowly ran out of the power reserves needed to keep his vessel from turning to mush and hey presto, talking skeleton.

Classic story, really.

“If I said you had a beautiful body, Dean,” Castiel says, solemnly, “Would you hold it against m-“

Dean doesn’t let him finish. {AO3 version}

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

“Now... Awaken.”

Writing Request Rules (Updated on Dec 31st, 2021)

General:

Tell me what characters and format you want. If you don’t state, I will delete or respond with a comment instead of with creative writing.

Do not just write “reaction to” or “fluffy”/“angst”, etc. YOU MUST CLEARLY STATE THE DESIRED FORMAT (headcanons, imagine/scenario, or interaction).

Specify MC/Yuu or a reader. Include relevant traits (appearance, personality, etc.). (MC/Yuu follows main story canon. A reader does not.) I will stay gender neutral unless defining sex or gender is actually necessary for the request (example: Reader is a boy pretending to be a girl).

State the relationship with the canon character (friend, lover or S/O, enemy, etc.). Don’t say “Leona with Reader”, say “Leona dating Reader. If you don’t state, it is automatically platonic.

I will write for up to 5 characters. Do not ask me to write for all the dorm leaders or for all the second years, etc.

Avoid spamming. I want everyone to have a chance to be heard and have their request written.

Please be patient! I write for fun in my free time, so I may not be able to get to your response right away.

I have the right to refuse requests for any reason.

I may combine similar requests.

What I WILL write:

canon character x canon character

platonic

canon character x MC/Yuu or Reader/self insert

NRC students, NRC staff, RSA students, mob students, and/or NPCs (Cheka, Najma, Grim, Ramshackle Ghosts, etc.)

✒️ character interactions (some dialogue and a few short paragraphs)

limited to TWO characters per request

you need to start off a character interaction with YOUR dialogue (ex: “Hi, Ace! How are you doing today?”)

stay on topic; it becomes difficult to respond if you jump around/ask several loosely unrelated questions (especially for requests with two characters)

do not ask characters to wish you a happy birthday; that puts pressure on me to get the writing done by a certain date

✒️ headcanons (will be in bullet points)

limited to FIVE characters per request

only include information that is necessary for writing the headcanons (if you are asking for shy MC playing video games with Ace, don’t go off on a tangent about how you have a pet gorilla)

✒️ scenarios/imagines (usually will not exceed 1000 words; sometimes I will write 1000+ words if a prompt really interests me)

up to FIVE characters can feature in a single imagine

you must briefly describe a situation you want the characters to be in; do not just give me personality traits of a reader or MC.

don’t ask me to retcon an ending to something I wrote before (it takes away the impact of the original ending)

yandere, fluff, angst, and simple AUs are fine!

What I will NOT write:

Note: Some of these can be negotiated for commissioned pieces. Please DM me for more information or if you have questions.

✒️ OC or OC-coded content (a trait or two is fine; don’t include any information that is not needed to fulfill the request)

✒️ NSFW/smut (this is reserved ONLY for limited time blog events)

✒️ poems and songfics

✒️ OOC or character hate/bashing

✒️ polyamorous relationships (I find them tough to write)

✒️ romanticization of bullying, harassment, and/or illness

✒️ incest (Shroudcest, Tweelcest, Kingscholarcest, Lilia x Silver or Malleus, etc.)

✒️ very specific requests (will gauge on a case by case basis; most likely will not fulfill if you explain exactly what you want to happen from beginning to end; at that point you may as well just write it yourself)

✒️ writing requests that require extensive research (like medical conditions)

✒️ rape, discrimination (racial, gender, sex, etc.), non-con, pedophilia (includes NRC staff x student), intense gore, suicide, self harm, severe mental illness, and baby trapping

✒️ in most cases, I won’t write pregnancy-centric requests (especially teenage pregnancy)

✒️ requests I have already done (check the masterlists out!)

✒️ crossovers

✒️ complex AUs (anything that requires a lot of additional research)

For Blog Events:

Sometimes there will be events on this blog. Keep an eye out for special rules and offerings! These special scenarios/events can involve:

limited time or seasonal prompts

NSFW/smut

doodles

writing raffles

...and whatever else I can come up with!

Thanks for reading the rules! I hope to see you around.

[shipaholic]

Omens Universe, Chapter 9 Part 1

At last, the present day! Time for bringing up Satan’s baby. :)

Link to next part at the end.

(From the beginning)

(last part)

(chrono)

---

Chapter 9

Tad and Harriet Dowling, new parents, were at breakfast.

Sunlight poured through the French windows. Harriet buttered a slice of toast. The baby was on her lap, grizzling. He was a golden-haired male baby, and he was perfect.

The baby’s tiny fists wobbled. His face turned red. The first hint of a high, plaintive note escaped his body.

Harriet put down her toast. She sighed.

“Tad, could you call for Nanny?”

It was like a siren going off. When the word ‘nanny’ was uttered, the baby wailed like he already understood what it meant and hated it.

Harriet winced. “Actually, I’ll get her. Tad, could you take the baby? Please? Now?”

Tad Dowling, cultural attaché to the United States, grimaced as he took his son off his wife.

“Here you are, little guy. Why the fuss, huh? You’re not scared of Nanny, are you? She’s a lovely woman.”

Yes. Wasn’t she?

His eyes unfocused slightly.

A tall figure swept into the room. The baby hollered like a car alarm.

Tad gingerly carried the little guy over. Nanny wordlessly held out her arms. She looked terribly normal. The baby kicked and turned purple as Tad handed him to her.

“Sorry about him, Ms…”

He broke off, puzzled.

The baby’s roars grew loud enough to shatter glass.

Tad laughed, nervously. “OK, now, off you go. You’ll soon calm down.”

There was a foul smell in the room. Harriet pulled a face.

“I’m sorry, I thought I just changed him.” She sounded uncertain.

Nanny gave a grim smile.

“I think the little man wants a walk.”

Tad nodded with relief. “Great idea. Doesn’t that sound nice, Adam?”

“See you soon, honey,” Harriet said. She had to shout above the yells.

Hastur, Duke of Hell, rearranged the baby in her arms, and carried him into the garden.

~*~

A familiar face snipped the heads off the roses. Ligur nodded to Hastur from beneath the brim of his gardening hat.

Hastur’s lip curled. The air was too fragrant. At least the rest of London was still decently polluted.

She looked around the smooth lawn. No-one else was around, besides some security guards in the distance.

“Where’s he pissed off to?” she growled to Ligur.

“Tree,” Ligur grunted. He assaulted some flowers with the secateurs.

Hastur stumped round the side of the house, baby screeching in her arms.

An apple tree curled into the sky round the back. It was the only plant in the grounds that hadn’t withered under Ligur’s ministrations. It smelled sweet, like cider and cloves. Underlying the fragrance was a hint of good old-fashioned terror. Hastur reluctantly approved.

She stood beneath the tree and knocked on the trunk.

“Job for you, Crawly,” she sneered.

Something wound down the trunk from the canopy. A long, black scaly body with a red underbelly. The baby’s unholy shrieks quietened. The tears splashing down his front dried up.

The snake turned into a white, glowing coil as it reached the bottom. It shifted back into a man with wavy red hair and sunglasses. He checked himself over - clothes, shades, glove - and held out his arms. Hastur deposited the baby and stepped back, simmering with jealousy.

“Hi, Hastur.” Crowley tucked the Antichrist against his chest. “What’s up?”

Hastur glowered. “Things are progressing as planned. Our dark master, may he ever watch under us, would be proud.”

Crowley jiggled the baby up and down. Adam gurgled. Hastur held back an envious tear.

“We have infiltrated the house at every level. There is no sign of the hated opposition. None shall thwart our glorious purpose. Our master’s child grows closer every day to fulfilling his destiny. Praise be to Satan.”

“Praise. Great.”

Hastur squinted into Crowley’s face.

“Get on with it,” she whispered.

Crowley cleared his throat. He paced slowly under the tree, rocking the baby in his arms. Adam’s big blue eyes stared around in curiosity.

“Once upon a time, our Lord and master, the King of Hell, knew that it was time to scorch the planet Earth to a tiny cinder and reduce all the creatures upon it to a thin, red slurry, lying all over the place like pools of, er... soup. And that was all very good and correct. Hurrah. And that’s where you came in -”

Hastur, satisfied, turned and stomped away. She never stayed long for Adam’s stories. She didn’t approve of literacy.

Crowley kept up a litany of blood and gore until Hastur was out of earshot. He and the baby lapsed into companionable silence.

Adam blew a few bubbles. His little baby hoodie was drooping on one side. Among the golden curls, on the left side of his head, something glinted in the sun. It was a gem, shaped like a curved red horn.

Crowley covered it up. He didn’t like looking at it. He felt like it was spying on him. Hell had used more unlikely things than babies as listening devices in Crowley’s time.

Worse still, there was the chance that Lucifer was in there, somewhere. Conscious. Furious at Crowley’s lukewarm attitude to the impending Armageddon.

“Just remember, I rescued you from Nanny Hastureth,” he told the baby. “Think of that when you’re deciding who to grind beneath your heel later.”

Adam grinned.

Crowley grinned back.

Adam hiccupped and threw up on Crowley’s jacket.

Crowley finger-snapped it away. The smell lingered. He hoped that wasn’t an omen.

“You know, the real story of how you got here is pretty fun,” he said.

~*~

Six months earlier

Crowley spotted the nun with the rabbit-in-headlights look about her at the end of the corridor.

“Psst.”

She took in the man with the sunglasses and the picnic basket dangling from his hand, and scurried over.

“Is that him?” Her voice trembled with awe.

“Yup.”

Crowley handed over The Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Prince of this World and Lord of Darkness.

Sister Mary Loquacious poured over the tiny Antichrist and cooed at his teensy little toes, fingers, and horn.

“Pardon?”

Crowley peered into the basket. He hadn’t thought to check. A red curved horn, like one half of a classic devil’s Halloween headdress, sprouted from the left side of the baby’s head.

“Wow.”

“It’s very classic. Though I’d expect him to have a matching one,” Sister Mary said.

Crowley said nothing. He felt like he’d caught his boss asleep sucking his thumb at the office party.

So, Lucifer had really done it. Used his own gem to create. This.

Blimey.

“Does he look like his daddy? I bet he does. Does he look like his daddy-waddy-kins?”

In one way, yes. Crowley deflected. He needed to get going.

“Do you think he’ll remember me when he grows up?” Sister Mary said, wistfully.

“Pray that he doesn’t,” said Crowley, and fled.

~*~

Sister Mary bustled to Room Three. The Antichrist, tucked in his little basket, dozed under her arm. She felt like she was skipping through the woods to deliver a picnic to the lucky Mr and Mrs American Ambassador. Except that instead of a picnic inside, there was an apocalypse.

She wondered if his new parents would love him. She felt sure that they would. From the tips of his hoofie-kins (which he didn’t have), to the top of his precious little horn.

She slowed.

Now that she thought about it, the horn was a bit of a problem.

It was silly, but it had never occurred to her that the Ambassador’s wife had, presumably, just given birth to a baby without a horn growing out of his head, and she was about to hand her back a baby that did have a horn growing out of his head. That part of the plan had sort of... passed her by.

There must be a plan for dealing with this. Naturally. The other sisters must have just forgotten to mention it to her. Which was strange, since all they were supposed to do was mention things to each other all day long. Probably an oversight.

Still. Mrs. Dowling might, just conceivably, have the odd question.

It would be fine. She’d make something up.

She tried to think of a lie she’d be comfortable giving to a room full of security men with guns.

As a bead of nervous sweat appeared on her brow, Mary found herself before Room Three.

She swallowed. She raised her hand. It trembled mid-knock.

Maybe…

On second thought, there was no shame in finding someone a little higher up the chain, just to make sure. It didn’t mean she’d failed to handle things at all.

She hurried away from the room.

~*~

Mary stood, red-faced, in a corner of Room Four, hidden behind two other nuns.

Upon some extremely pointed instructions, she was silent while Mother Superior suggested names for the baby. This was in defiance of her vows, but going by the looks on everyone’s faces, she’d better obey and not risk messing things up.

The thought of what could have happened had she given the Prince of Lies to the wrong parents made her feel faint.

Still, she caught the mistake in time. That was the important thing. And Mother Superior had a very convincing story about the horn, which Mrs. Dowling accepted without question, possibly owing to the euphoria of birth, and also the painkillers. She was explaining the complex medical reason for it, in a serious voice, to her husband, on the laptop held by one of the secret service agents.

Mary was a little lost in her own world, and still on edge, and she really didn’t mean to forget herself. But a lifetime of mindless chattering, some of it mandated, was a tricky habit to break. The words spilled out before she was even aware of them.

“Of course, there’s always Adam.”

Someone next to her trod on her foot. She squeaked.

Mother Superior shot her a frozen, angry stare. The room seemed to hold its breath.

Mrs. Dowling stared into her son’s eyes.

“Adam?” Her brows lifted. “Huh.”

~*~

2013

Adam Dowling’s bedroom had a real racing car in it. It had a real remote controlled tank, a real pirate ship, and a real plane suspended from the ceiling. They were all sized for him.

He was five. His eyelids fluttered as he sat up in bed, listening to his bedtime story. A huge black snake, the size of a python, loomed over his innocent little face.

“And then little Adam went home with his new peons, mum and dad. They took him to live in a big house they’d bought just for him, and filled it with all the things he liked, like toys, and sweets, and television, and egg-and-soldiers for breakfast every day. And he grew up big and strong and destroyed them all. Which was good. The end.”

Adam yawned.

“Cwawly, can I hear the other story?”

“Sssure,” Crowley hissed. “Which one?”

This wasn’t such a bad role. Delighting a macabre junior-schooler was squarely in Crowley’s wheelhouse. The downside was that his official title was Crawly the Magic Talking Snake. Including on his paperwork at head office. Which was a bit annoying. Definitely Dagon’s work.

“The one about the angel in the garden.”

Crowley hesitated. “Yeah, all right.”

He happened to be in the mood for it this evening. He coiled up on Adam’s pillow. It was soft as a dream. He’d have to be careful not to fall asleep himself.

“An angel and a demon met in a garden. They were supposed to be enemies, and thwart each other's plans, and score big victories for Heaven and Hell. But that was a lot of work. So instead, they became best friends. And then, purely by accident, they discovered they had a secret power. When they needed to, they could turn into one person, with the best parts of both of them. A superhero - but cool. Not a goody-goody from the comics.

“Whenever they turned into him, the angel didn’t have to feel bad about doing the wrong thing from time to time. And the demon could experience a little of the grace that he thought was lost to him forever. They loved being him, because they loved being together. Because they loved each other. But the angel never realised it, because he was good, and good people are stupid even when they’re really, really clever. So the demon knew he had to keep his love a secret, because if the angel knew about it, he’d get into a panic and everything would be ruined.

“But one day, the angel realised he loved the demon, and he didn’t panic, and everything was wonderful. But it still ended up ruined, because of ineffability. That’s the worst word in the English language. Never say it or I will wash out your mouth with soap. And so the angel left Earth forever to hang out with the other angels, who were rubbish and boring, rather than the cool demon who was better than them in every way. So, the lesson is…?”

Adam nodded along, glassy-eyed. “Good people are rubbish?”

Crowley hissed. “Believe it. Stick with what you know.”

Adam made a non-committal noise. He often sounded like he was weighing his options at the end of these. Crowley wondered how much he was taking in.

“And in the End of Days, the forces of Hell will cwawl over the earth and drag the hosts of Heaven down into the pit. Hurrah,” Adam said, contentedly.

“Hurrah,” said Crowley, checking over his shoulder in case one of his bosses was there. They weren’t.

It was a lonely job, honestly, playing imaginary friend to the Antichrist. To keep up the pretence that he was a made-up magic talking snake, he had to take care only to appear when no other people were around. This wasn’t too difficult, as he seemed to be Adam’s only friend. He wondered if he’d have had lots of friends, in different circumstances. He was an intense kid. There was an odd, magnetic draw to him. Probably got it from his dad.

Unfortunately, his upbringing had largely involved demons whispering in his ear that he was destined to bring about the End of Days. The other parents tended not to bring their children round after the first time little Adam joyfully took a playmate to the koi pond and enacted the Rise of the Kraken from the Thunderous Deeps. And replacing the koi was blessed expensive, judging by the sharp tone Adam’s human mum took with the idiot ambassador they’d lumbered the poor kid with.

The rest of the team all thought it was for the best, of course. Wouldn’t do for the Harbinger of the End Times to get attached to the world and any peoples he was about to destroy. Adam had never had so much as a pet, in case he discovered a fondness for animals. Hastur, still slogging away as the Dowling’s live-in nanny, once tried to interest the boy in a tank full of pet tarantulas. Adam had recoiled in horror, although that might just have been from Hastur. It gave Crowley a warm, spiteful glow that Adam never warmed up to her.

Adam’s eyelids were drooping. Time for Crowley to go. He uncoiled and slithered onto the floor. He reared up to whisper a goodbye over Adam’s curly head.

“What are you?” he murmured.

“The Great Beast, Destwoyer of Worlds.”

“And what are your powers?”

“Money.”

Eh, fine. That’d do. Crowley slunk from the room.

Outside the bedroom door, he shifted back to human-shaped. His right arm twinged. It always played up when he switched forms. He looked at it and winced. It was worse tonight.

He morphed the glove over it before anyone could round the corner. Incognito, that was his middle name. [1]

He slipped down the hall, encountering no-one. Demons had replaced most of the staff. They had little interest in him. This was Hastur and Ligur’s operation. Crowley was small fry. Fine. It wasn’t like he wanted any of this.

Six years to go.

He slowed as he passed a ground-floor window. The mathematically trimmed lawn rolled out like a table mat. Beneath the window was a bed of rose bushes with all the heads cut off.

Crowley pushed the window open and leaned his head out. A sulphuric stink rose from the flower bed. Overlaying it was the faint scent of roses. They were fighting a losing battle. Crowley reached down and snipped off a stem.

He brought the headless stem inside. He looked around furtively and blinked. A pink bloom pushed its petals from the top of the stalk.

Crowley lowered his head and inhaled the scent of the rose in his hand.

He sighed and snapped his fingers.

The flower burst into flames. It fell into a pile of ash. Crowley trod it into the carpet as he strode away.

---

[1] He’d tried to make it his middle initial, because it sounded cool and James Bond-ish, but he’d been a bit drunk and smudged it. Then he decided he liked ‘J’ better, anyway.

---

Musical interlude! Go here for Crowley’s version of It’s Over, Isn’t It? - Steven Universe

---

(Link to next part)

[kpopfic-recs]

♡ nct fic recs masterlist ♡

Note: If you are unable to view the formatting on the mobile app, switch to reading on your mobile browser

(Last update 4/27/20)

Key: Fluff (❀) Angst (☆) Smut (☾) Completed Series (✓) Incomplete Series (✗)

  ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿

Moon Taeil

↳ One Shots

Vivid by wonjaekook II ☆

Summary: The flowers he coughs up are navy blue - a color as deep and vivid as the love he feels for you. (Hanahaki Disease!AU)

Length of story: 5.3k words

Warnings: Mentions of character death

freely by floraltaeil II ❀ ☾

Summary: Acquaintances—friendly acquaintances, that’s all you and Taeil were. Until maybe it was finally time to let go of all the stubbornness that plagued you. (Bass player!Taeil, Punk!Taeil). 

Length of story: 7k words

Warnings: None

  ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿

Johnny Seo

↳ One Shots

Puppy Love by dreaminghaos II ❀

Summary: You just can’t believe you’ve fallen in love with a guy who named his dog Real Slim Shiba. Or in which Johnny hides an illegal puppy in his apartment and you become an accomplice. (College!AU) (Neighbors!AU)

Length of story: 3.1k words

Warnings: Mention of drug abuse, non-explicit sexual content

Caffeinated by stormae II ❀

Summary: Your neighbor Johnny leaves coffee cups at your doorstep every morning. (Neighbors!AU)

Length of story: 3.2k words

Warnings: None

The Perfect Man by wonjaekook II (+ Jaehyun) ❀ ☆ 

Summary: You’ve spent the last few years trying to find the perfect man. After a lot of first dates and not many seconds, you finally find him. You also find that, maybe, he’d been there the entire time. (Friends to Lovers!AU)

Length of story: 5.2k words

Warnings: None

Disaster Training by taect II ☆ ☾

Summary: “Here is the smile you tried to bury. Here is the broken tongue, the cut fingers, the apple bruised heart.” (Friends to Lovers!AU, Suburbia!AU)

Length of story: 5.6k words

Warnings: Blood, mentions of violence, mentions of abuse, mentions of alcohol abuse, mentions of death, sad ending

Make a Wish by sluttyten II ❀ ☆ ☾

Summary: You’re Jungwoo’s sister, and he’s made it clear he wants you and Johnny to have nothing to do with each other. So you and Johnny start fake dating to piss him off.

Length of story: 6.7k words

Warnings: None

Helping Hand by yougotthatbilly II ☾

Summary: There are more pros when it comes to living with Johnny. Or Johnny has a really big heart and an even bigger dick.

Length of story: 7.5k words

Warnings: None

Baby by sluttyten II (+ Mark) ☾

Summary: It begins as a mistake when Mark overhears you and Johnny having sex.

Length of story: 8.6k words

Warnings: Voyeurism, edging, threesome, orgasm denial

Let it Go by yougotthatbilly II (feat. Jaehyun) ☆ ☾

Summary: Johnny has been your best friend for as long as you can remember and helped you through your painful breakup with Taeyong. Jaehyun is your close friend who is always there to help when you need him. Both boys may like you more than they let on, but do you have feelings for either of them?

Length of story: 22.7k words

Warnings: None

  ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿

Kim Doyoung

↳ One Shots

A Little Help by sluttyten II (+ Jungwoo) ☾

Summary: A sex education lesson with Kim Doyoung (aka he’s more of a hands-on kind of teacher).

Length of story: 5.5k words

Warnings: Threesome

Under the Stars by jinjikook II ❀ ☾

Summary: You’re forced to go to the equivalent of bible camp, out in the forest. Unfortunately, you’re also forced to share a tent with a resident goody-two-shoes and you decide to have a little fun messing with him. Turns out, it brings him to his limit and pushes him over the edge. (Church Boy!AU)

Length of story: 8k words

Warnings: None

  ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿

Ten

↳ One Shots

Offended by stormae II ❀ ☆

Summary: You grow increasingly annoyed with your new neighbor and his obnoxiously loud music. (Neighbors!AU)

Length of story: 3.4k words

Warnings: None

Painted are the Living by stormae II ❀ ☆

Summary: art to life!au

Length of story: 9.4k words

Warnings: Death (sort of?)

  ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿

Jung Jaehyun

↳ One Shots

A Slight Smell of Strawberry Shortcake by goldenscript II ❀

Summary: You can’t seem to get the boy at the bakery across the street off of your mind, even after all this time. (Slice of Life!AU, Baker!AU)

Length of story: 2.9k words

Warnings: None

Trouble for the Taking by versigny II ☾ ♡

Summary: “What’s easy to get into, and hard to get out of?” (7 Minutes in Heaven!AU)

Length of story: 7.8k words

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol

For You by sluttyten II ❀ ☾

Summary: In which you’re both tired of friends and family pitying you for being single on Valentine’s Day. (Fake Dating!AU)

Length of story: 9.5k words

Warnings: Drinking

Please, Please, Please by dreaminghaos II ❀ ☆ ☾ ♡

Summary: How is this supposed to mean nothing when you can feel your world shift every time Jung Jaehyun touches you? Or in which the only good thing in your life is your job at the museum and basketball star Jaehyun just really likes touching the art. (College!AU, Basketball!AU, FWB!AU)

Length of story: 15.3k words

Warnings: Alcohol abuse, choking, drunk sex, unprotected sex

Summer Haze by dreaminghaos II ❀ ☆ ☾ ♡

Summary: You haven’t seen him in a year, but nothing has changed. You’re still completely, absolutely, irrevocably, stupidly in love with Jung Jaehyun and you’re beginning to suspect nothing will ever change that. Or the one in which you go on a weekend trip with your childhood friends and face feelings you’d rather keep buried.

Length of story: 17k words

Warnings: Mentions of underage drinking, alcohol abuse

  ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿

Kim Jungwoo

↳ One Shots

A Little Help by sluttyten II (+ Doyoung) ☾

Summary: A sex education lesson with Kim Doyoung (aka he’s more of a hands-on kind of teacher).

Length of story: 5.5k words

Warnings: Threesome

  ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿

Mark Lee

↳ Series

Distraction by sluttyten II ☾ ✓

Summary: Your brother is a member who disapproves of Mark flirting with you, so when he calls you while Mark’s fucking you, you have to keep quiet.

Length of story: 3 parts/15.1k words

Warnings: None

  ↳ One Shots

Sinner by ilomark II ☾

Summary: Mark Lee, virgin number 4. 

Length of story: 3.2k words

Warnings: Religious themes

Lilac by ilomark II ❀ ☾

Summary: Mark tries to prove that he can be a dom.

Length of story: 6.5k words

Warnings: Choking, light sub/dom themes, slight degradation

Distant Stars by jen0baby II ❀ ☆ ☾

Summary: Mark never thought he’d fall for his roommate. but when he walked in on you by accident, clothes barely covering your figure, a pink vibrator held in your hand, Mark offers his help - it's what anyone else would do, right? That’s when everything changed. (Roommate!AU, Best Friends!AU)

Length of story: 7k words

Warnings: Sad ending

Baby by sluttyten II (+ Johnny) ☾

Summary: It begins as a mistake when Mark overhears you and Johnny having sex.

Length of story: 8.6k words

Warnings: Voyeurism, edging, threesome, orgasm denial

Hesperus by jen0baby II ❀ ☆ ☾

Summary: Mark had always loved you, and you always loved Mark, it just took the stars to align right, and the moon to come out for you both to realise. After you accidentally walk in on Mark naked in the dorm bathrooms you can’t help but think about him, and Donghyuck helps you find a solution to sort your problem out.

Length of story: 17.5k words

Warnings: None

  ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿

Lee Jeno

↳ One Shots

language of the flora by jungnoir II ❀

Summary: Jeno’s too shy to confess his crush on you with words, the barista who works next door to his flower shop, so he decides a clever alternative is through the language of flowers. There is only one problem…you’re not that fluent in plant.

Length of story: 9.9k words

Warnings: None

  ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿

Lee Donghyuck

↳ One Shots

Best Friends by jen0baby II ❀ ☾

Summary: You show up at the dorms for what you expect to be a typical sleepover with your best friend, Haechan, but things don’t turn out the way you’d anticipated. (Best Friends!AU, Friends to Lovers!AU)

Length of story: 4.4k words 

Warnings: None

  ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿

Zhong Chenle

↳ One Shots

Stuck on You by goldenscript II ❀

Summary: Unlike the countless other times you’ve been left alone with your fifth grade rival, this one is different - after all, who knew you’d actually come to like like him? (Enemies to Lovers!AU)

Length of story: 2.5k words

Warnings: None

  ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿

Multiple Members

↳ Series

love sick by moonlit-jeno (Dream 00 line) II ❀ ☆ ☾ ♡ ✓ 

Summary: “You’re telling me that I slept through the beginning of the zombie apocalypse.” You deadpan, expecting at least one of them to break character and laugh. All four boys remain grim. (Zombie!AU)

Length of story: 11 parts/27.3k words

Warnings: Graphic violence/gore, guns, mentions of blood & vomit, major character death

  ↳ One Shots

rainy day by moonlit-jeno (Dream 00 line + Mark) II ☾

Summary: No description given (basically just a pwp sixsome). 

Length of story: 4.5k words

Warnings: Some mxm

Can’t We Share? by sluttyten (94-99 line) II ☾ 

Summary: A chance encounter leads to you meeting and falling in love with them all, and why bother choosing between them when you can have them all?

Length of story: 13.2k words

Warnings: Orgy, cunnilingus, impregnation kink, creampie, cum play, breast fucking, daddy kink, spanking, choking, bukkake, double penetration

[sir-severance]

connective tissue - mlandersen0

this is my piece for the fantastic Slenderverse Zine (2019). this was a pleasure to write, and i am honoured to have been a part of such a wonderful project. you can check out the zine here, and read this fic on AO3 here. 

a quick disclaimer - i hope it's quite clear that i do not support the views which the character Shaun Andersen expresses in this fic. this is an exploration into mental health stigma, the entitlement of neurotypicality and the damage which can come about from both sides of any relationship within which someone is suffering because of mental illness. i am not interested in any discourse. please take this fic for what it is, and if you disagree, feel free to write your own. likewise, please heed the content warnings.

thanks, and i hope you enjoy <3

cws: mental health, mental illness, ableism, sickness, anxiety, depression, blood, twins, abuse, therapy, gore, terror, horror

Shaun’s parents often address him in the same breath as talking about Michael, as if the two are immutably connected, their meaning solely defined by virtue of each not being the other. But the parental Andersens could not always retain this facade of equality in front of their youngest child. No, Shaun found the documents when he was ten, long after Michael’s departure.

At the time, the words he found staggered him with polysyllabic ambiguity:

Monochorionic.

Parasitic.

Anemic.

But one phrase unfurled its roots and lodged itself into the squishy whorls of his brain.

The night of the discovery, little Shaun Andersen ran screaming into his parents’ bedroom, tears and terror marring his face the way fresh understanding of horror always does. When his mother hushed Shaun, held him close and begged him to explain what was wrong, the boy’s answer made the colour flood from her face.

All too soon, Shaun found himself confronted with yet more walls: walls so staggeringly bleached that, to Shaun, the paint served not as a reminder of cleanliness, but of spores and fungi and bacteria, swelling into turgid contaminants ready to burrow through his skin and pick his bones clean.

“Twin-to-twin transfusion syndrome,” the therapist reads from her notes. She smiles at Shaun, with too many teeth. “Where did we hear such big words, hm?”

Shaun keeps quiet. In the time since Michael left, the value of silence impressed its qualities upon him. The art of disquiet is something everyone knows about, but few possess the gall to produce. Shaun maintains fixed eye contact with the therapist, while revelling in the security offered by his glasses. There’s a plastic quality to her dimples: an artificial construction of pleasantry that only a child could see through.

She doesn’t care about you.

Shaun believes there’s relief for both of them when the light goes out of her eyes.

“It’s okay, Shaun,” the therapist says. Her voice quavers noticeably. “I think you’re a very smart boy. You’d like me to tell you the truth, wouldn’t you?”

I think you want to tell me the truth and not have to deal with me, Shaun thinks. The therapist continues on regardless:

“Sometimes, when people have babies, things can go wrong. The baby might come out sick, or a bit different.”

The therapist watches him for a response. Shaun tries his best not to blink. Her mouth twitches.

“When a mom has a baby inside, the baby gets their food from an organ called the placenta. It’s kind of like a phone charger — it gets plugged in to the wall of the mommy’s tummy, and when she eats, nutrients from the food are transferred to the baby. These nutrients are transferred by blood. Do you understand?”

You’re talking to me like I’m an idiot. This doesn’t feel professional at all, is what Shaun  Andersen understands. How old does she think I am?

“With twins, sometimes they share one placenta, instead of having one each. And sometimes, blood gets passed between the twins.” Her face creases, like she’s recalling something unpleasant. “This can mean that one twin doesn’t get enough blood — they’re called the ‘donor’ twin — and the other gets too much blood, making them the ‘recipient’ twin.”

The therapist actually looks away before going on, and Shaun is sure it has more to do with practiced decency than genuine upset.

“Michael received the blood your other brother didn’t get.”

It sounds like she’s reading from a script. Maybe she prepared this. Wanted to scare me and  take me off guard so she can get into my head. I’m not going to say a damn thing. Fuck her.

“I’m sorry you had to find out the way you did, Shaun.” The therapist’s mouth twists in a grim approximation of sympathy. “But it’s just a fact of life.”

A fact of life that Michael devoured his twin in the womb.

It’s only now that he’s in some lightless attic, face-down on the floor with his skin prickled against the cold, that this wash of memories coats Shaun with their accusatory foam. There’s a peculiar, pickling scent prodding at his gag reflex; this room reeks of mold and misery. It’s as if the air itself is frothing from an unseen mouth. For Shaun, this triggers a memory encased in nausea. A taste identical to the sour pills the therapist gave him that day spills onto his palate: anti-anxiety medication.

Shaun vomited the first batch he took, so he ceased taking them all together. Instead, he replaced each pill in his medication box with chalky, pastel candy, and made a big show of swallowing one in the morning and one in the evening.

He’s just like Michael, really. As long as there are witnesses, he’ll put on a show.

Splinters impale the meat of Shaun’s mouth, and sawdust cakes his tongue. He hacks and coughs, and writhes on the floor. His knees manage to find purchase in the gloom, but his muscles tremble and quiver with the effort of kneeling. He’s been bashed and bruised, dragged carelessly and tossed aside like a used rag. Tenderised meat before the slaughter.

And Michael’s going to be the same.

Shaun’s breath pulses out in panicked bursts. He can just about see his exhalations curling away in the freezing cold. No, he can’t be this weak — he must shove it back, quash the feeling. He’s worth more than this. If he goes back on the things he said to Michael now — horrible, hateful things — then he’ll never be able to live with himself.

So Shaun breathes steadily, working his way around the anxiety attack the way his therapist never showed him. As his heart rate steadies and adrenaline drops, all that energy and fear circumvents his guts, and heads a frontal assault on his brain. This leads to a conclusion burning through his mind with perfect clarity

This is all Michael’s fault.

Shaun never knew the name for whatever disease ravaged his brother’s mind. Not that he ever asked. The less he knew about Michael’s... abnormalities, the better. He remembers phrasing it that way to his parents, when he finally said no to another trip to see the remains of their estranged son.

Each week flowed the same way: stilted conversation between siblings, and pained platitudes from their parents. All meaningless little words of encouragement deliberately skipping over the elephant in the room — or, rather, the room containing the elephant, with its queasy walls and claustrophobic bars on the windows. No one in there ever used words like crazy or sick — in fact, they gave you a sheet of words to refrain from using when in the presence of the patients. All the relatives and guests of the inmates were expected to behave in this fashion.

This nauseated Shaun. He knew his brother was still in there. And he knew better than anyone how Michael liked to play his little games.

Regardless, Shaun tried his best to make Michael talk, and find something recognisable in the muddy depths of his eyes. But every visit, the dark deepened. No matter how many toys he tried to share, no matter how many stories he’d try to tell, and no matter how many times he affirmed to Michael that they were best friends and one day he’d get out of the hospital so they could play again... he stayed the same.

The final straw comes one dismal, rainy Friday afternoon. Shaun and his dad sit next to each other, opposite Michael with a table acting as barrier between them, saying nothing.

An aide took them both aside before they entered the main facility, and explained that Michael is being trialed on another type of medication. The visit is going as miserably as the weather foretold.

Michael looks barely human. Something is altered in the familiar shape of his body, like a bent coat hanger hastily reformed into an approximation of its original structure. The older Andersen brother slumps back in his chair, his skin several shades whiter than the wall behind him. His mouth is cracked with dehydration, and his hair is tangled with sleeplessness and grease. But worst of all are his eyes. They sit listless and devoid of comprehension, with blank pupils gazing aimlessly at his family, through them, and beyond them. A candle snuffed out before shrinkage of the wick.

Shaun remembers the emptiness of his therapist’s eyes. The glee in outwitting her. The pleasure of looking into those sad, brown depths.

There is no joy in peering into Michael’s skull.

Without warning, Shaun’s temper seizes him with all the ferocity a young boy’s hormones could. He slams his clenched fist down on the table, rattling metal. All conversation in the room ceases, a veil of corpselike silence.

Michael, however, doesn’t react. He doesn’t even acknowledge the sound.

The words jump from Shaun’s mouth like oil from a sizzling pan, murderous in their venom.

“You’re such a freak.”

Before the aides can reach him, Shaun’s dad grabs him by the shoulder and yanks him out of the room, into the hallway. Shaun can tell he’s furious, but there’s so much anger pumping through his blood that he just doesn’t care. He needs to do something, anything, to puncture the film over Michael’s eyes. Anything to make him so much as flinch.

But Michael remains unaffected.

As expected, the facility removes them both immediately, and Shaun is given a one-month visitation ban. This doesn’t bother Shaun in the slightest — in fact, he feels victorious, and righteous in his fury. There’s no way he’s coming back. Not this time. Michael squandered his last chance.

Even so, he’ll never forget his last view of that room, before his father pulls him away.

Tears spilling freely down Michael’s stony face.

From then on, the pre-trip talk with his parents is a minefield to navigate. They try so hard to make everything light and cheery, to speak about Michael like he’s still a part of their family, but Shaun overhears them speaking about their visits when they think he’s not listening. Now, more often than not, Michael’s arms are bound throughout their visits. Other times, they’re only able to converse with their son from behind a pane of tough glass.

Sometimes, they came home early.

‘Oh, Mikey’s feeling a touch under the weather today,’ their mother chirps. ‘But he says he misses you lots and lots!’

Her happy tone belies the true quality of their visit. It doesn’t matter. Shaun never asks for further details. Eventually, Shaun is old enough that his moods are ascribed to the terrors of puberty, and he is left to his own devices.

In retrospect, the seven years between Shaun’s Michael-detox and their first meeting as adults seems superfluous. The difference the years wrought upon Michael shocked Shaun.

Where once there existed a timid, chubby little kid with the brightest of smiles, now stood a gangly, hollow-looking man, with eyes like pits of coal. Though the corners of Michael’s mouth upturn upon seeing him, Shaun doesn’t register any warmth.

Somehow, this infuriates Shaun more than his brother’s tears ever could. He’d always assumed that even though his brother is older, Michael would remain the same size — adulthood somehow being barred for the mentally ill. Resentment boils away in Shaun’s stomach seeing how much taller his brother is, how clean-cut his features are. But this isn’t the thing which incenses Shaun the most.

It’s that, in those eyes, those chasmic clefts gouged out in his pale flesh, Shaun saw quiet patience.

Intelligence.

Forgiveness.

Just the mere hint of any kind of pity from his brother makes Shaun’s thoughts curdle with rage. How dare he be okay? He’s supposed to be sick! Isn’t that the whole reason why he got  locked up in the first place?

Shaun knows these are irrational and angry thoughts, but would rather cut out his own tongue than internalise them as ‘unfair’. He slaved away the better part of his life playing second fiddle to his parents’ worry and concern, always visiting Michael, paying more attention to Michael... all while their favourite son plays the part of a theatre dummy.

So Shaun makes the decision there and then. He is under no obligation to take care of this man forced upon him by blood — but he will. He will be the most selfless, compassionate human being his brother has ever seen.

Then they’ll see who has the right to forgive.

The walls of the attic Shaun can’t see feel like they’re closing in on his aching body, dragging themselves closer with hidden, noiseless claws. If you hadn’t lied about seeing the  Tall Man, he wouldn’t be as sick as he is, his thoughts hiss, and he thinks that the walls are growing mouths and speaking to him, indicting him, readying to pluck his head from his shoulders and smack it on a pike.

Yet, as his fear increases, tiny increments of light make themselves known in Shaun’s vision. Eventually, he’s able to zero in on a shape just out of each — something large and mostly crimson, with a long curved blade extending from its middle. Sickly, distended panic courses through Shaun like a white-hot fever when he recognises the shape.

It’s a fucking chainsaw.

The enormity of the situation crashes into his nervous system. He’s being laid out, prepped and ready for consumption. Oh God, he drugged me to tie me down and cut me open, and then he’s gonna go find Michael and do the same thing-

Keep it together! Express some reticence, for fuck’s sake. You’re not going to break down. You’re not going to give in. Michael’s the one who hurt you, kept hurting you, all this time. Without him, you would have a real family. A home. A future. Not biting the dust spilled on some dank  basement.

The attic betrays nothing but the acrid stench of death. People have died here. People have been tied up and carved open like autopsy specimens, all for the gain of their sadistic owner. Shaun, despite his terror, continues to squint at the weapon.

You’re about to bite the dust anyway...

When Shaun sees the blood staining the steel, he screams.

Another flashbulb memory comes searing into his head: his brother’s wafer-thin form keeling over in the snow. That chokehold of panic throws Shaun into immediate action, forcing him to run and cradle the body of his brother. He’s so desperate and terrified, not knowing if this is really Michael, what this body could be capable of...

And yet Shaun grabs hold anyway, all grudges suddenly forgotten, and oh fuck it must be Patrick, because his nose is bleeding and his limbs are as heavy and wet as the white beneath their boots. Shaun hauls him the best he can, inwardly cursing his lack of strength, and as he drags Patrick over to the frozen table he can only pray his mental fortitude is made of stronger stuff.

“I came here to apologise.”

“Really.”

The sarcasm pours out of Shaun without a second thought, so heated it almost scorches the icy air. But there’s no way he could ever dam this wave of fury.

‘There’s still a lot you don’t know...’

It takes everything Shaun has to not to let his poker face flicker, but the rage beneath makes him want to seize Patrick by his lapels and bash him against a wall. How dare he. This freakshow of a bodysnatcher can’t even keep his brother’s body alive and well long enough to stand up while having a conversation, and yet has the nerve to patronise him?

Shaun hears, ‘I’m sorry for Stormy,’ as if from the other end of a tunnel. All that’s brewing in his head is the conundrum sitting in front of him. Two personalities, one body. They’re interchangeable now, one and the same. Twice the twin, half the skeleton. Michael, playing patient zero to a contagion which wrecks and wrings until bloodied flesh is all that’s left behind. Patrick, a disease forged in the womb and soaked into the being of a boy who could have been something different.

Should have been.

Never will be.

No one could reconcile the two but Shaun.

So it must be a sickness, an illness, a disease. And everything bad that ever comes from sweet Michael’s mouth is a result of his condition.

If that’s the case, is it so awful to want to be as far away from them — from him — as possible,  whoever — and whatever — he is?

Patrick is only sharing the broken-down condo which remains of his brother’s body.

Taking back his stolen property.

And where does that leave Shaun?

As the unspoken martyr, of course.

There’s only so much room in my head for bullshit, Shaun seethes. I’m not going to live my  life cleaning up after him — not for Michael or Patrick.

And that’s it - that’s the one thing that people never let him have. The realisation which hits upon their return to the motel, where Michael cowers beneath the words spat from Shaun’s molten mouth. He always possessed a thought process blessed by rapidity, but a tongue cursed to be silver. Shaun is nothing but a host to a panoply of pain as essential to him as his own veins.

As essential as the blood flowing between Michael, and the brother he never met.

When Shaun storms out into the cold, determined to be somewhere, anywhere that puts great distance between him and the entity Michael/Patrick Andersen, he feels the full force of the Virus, nesting, breeding, multiplying beneath his skin. There’s no room for guilt and worry and pain — just the cure.

To never be near his brother again.

When Shaun saw Patrick’s nose bleeding, he had to swallow back bile. He knew in an instant that their brother never left, not really. Once, connective tissue held the bonds of their brotherhood fast. The transfusion continues. The real question is — who is the donor, and who is the recipient?

Even his own family emphasised the importance of their blood-bond, unable to comprehend Shaun’s behaviour.

“He’s your brother, Shaun, and he needs your help,” his mom tells him one night, barely holding back the tears. “I know he can be difficult to deal with, but this isn’t his fault. He didn’t ask to be sick.”

And Patrick didn’t ask to die, Shaun wants to scream. No one blames Michael for  cannibalism, do they?

Now he’s facedown in the wood, sawdust clinging to the hot streaks his tears leave behind, and that mortifying image which plagues his nightmares comes looming large from the recesses of his mind; two twin boys, floating without care in a shared amniotic sac, their umbilical cords respectively attached to the same fleshy hunk in lieu of a beating heart.

Shaun feels like his foetal never-brother. Severed. Shrink-wrapped in his own sac, the very thing keeping him alive. And then eventually swallowed whole.

It’s time for Shaun to cut the cord for good.

Why couldn’t you just be normal? The tears start for real now, fat and salty and rolling down Shaun’s face in a tempest. His internal monologue is louder now, drowning out the background noise of his softer (yet much more insidious) conscience.

Stormy would still be here if you weren’t so fucked up... I could have had a normal life if it  weren’t for you...

There’s no time left for forgiveness. Because of Michael... Patrick... because Shaun willingly exposed himself to this pathogen again and again, he is going to die here, in this glacial attic, with no one around to know or care.

But, as the lights are turned off, and a dark, unfamiliar laughter fills his every sense, a set of horrid thoughts riot in the screeching crowd of his brain; the thoughts that could never quite be buried.

Michael didn’t know what he was doing... Michael didn’t know what he consumed…

Shaun once made the mistake of asking his mom what his other brother was going to be called.

No-one ever asks to be infected.

Shaun’s eyes shut against the darkness for the last time.

“I always liked the name Patrick.”

[gloriousgardendonut]

Walking the Ridgeway, my own way - one woman and her pup

Genesis 13:17                  Arise, walk through the land in the length of it and                  in the breadth of it; for I will give it unto thee.

Whilst camping I met a man who originated from Zimbabwe. He told me a story of how he had applied to become a British citizen many years previous after fleeing his own country for fear of persecution. At the time there was a mix up and due to his own misinterpretation of a letter regarding his application he thought he had been denied citizenship. He was a Christian and prayed to God for help. Whilst doing so he came across the above quote from Genesis. On reading it he decided to take it literally and walked from Aberdeen to Lands End  in the hope that God would help him in his predicament. On his return from his walk someone explained to him that the letter was actually saying he could stay in England and due to language difficulties he had misinterpreted it.  He explained to me how he was overjoyed and had enjoyed walking all over the British Isles ever since. He also believed that God had rewarded him as in Genesis. Interestingly, this conversation took place on our campsite the morning of the England versus Sweden game in the World Cup. Having our camper van adorned with England flags he had asked about them and we chatted about how we'd be watching the game later in the local pub. Later in the day he and his wife arrived unexpectedly in the pub and  joined us in cheering England on to victory, he said it had been another wonderful experience for him as he'd never watched football in a pub before. But I diversify, my reason for this bit of blog is to share my thoughts on the recent National Trail I completed. My reason for walking wasn't concerned with religion but rather a personal challenge I set myself for the Gap Year to do something by myself (without other humans). Of course my lovely new pooch came with me to keep me company. As it turned out the walk gave me plenty of thinking time and possibly helped me to see 'the light' in relation to many things on a personal level. I'm sure if people were able to walk everyday, heads and minds would be much clearer and mental health difficulties would be less than they currently are. I might add that having a dog as well helps my mental health enormously so recommend it to anyone. So 'The Walk' - The Ridgeway National Trail - 87 miles from Overton Hill to Ivanhoe Beacon, an ancient trackway used since  prehistoric times and passing  through The Wessex Downs, The Chilterns, secluded valleys and remote woodlands of Wiltshire, Oxfordshire and Buckinghamshire. Recommended completion time 6-7 days, recommended average daily mileage 14-15 miles, recommended direction West to East. But hang on……recommendations are all well and good but what about the unexpected! For one the unexpected heatwave in England with the highest temperatures since 1976. Then add to that a 15 month old pup that flits from Duracell high power mode (crazy, spinning, jumping) to flat battery mode (puppy nap, refuses to move) at regular intervals through the day. Then finally, start and finish points along the route miles from our pre booked accommodation and in the middle of nowhere. So with these factors in the mix the 14-15 miles per day was the first criteria to be abandoned, replaced on good days with 7am starts we were able to achieve 10-11 miles and on others with later starts maybe 6-7 miles. The heat was usually above 30 degrees by 11am so afternoon walking was not an option for the puppy. Also the puppy got really tired every 2-3 days so we had to include a couple of rest days for him to recover, but is was good for me as well and usually meant we were raring to go the day after. The other big issue was the M40 or more precisely accommodation we'd  booked to the west or east of this. We'd booked a log cabin on a smallholding near to the start of the walk and hoped we could do more of the walk than we did by the time we had to move to our next accommodation - a campsite near the end. As it turned out we still had 40 miles to go (still in the middle) when we had to leave the cabin and go to the campsite. This meant we either needed to return east each day (40 miles first day, 30 miles second day and so on). This would mean taking up valuable pre-lunch walking time and not getting too far before we had to stop because of the heat. So I had an 'ingenious' idea instead of driving back 40 miles, we could pop down the road to Ivanhoe Beacon and start walking backwards, well back to the middle not actually backwards. This would mean we maximised more early morning walking time. Not the traditional way of walking a linear route,  but who cares, we were being adaptable to circumstances and we still eventually walked the whole 87 miles and were probably unique in being the only women and pup do do the route that way……EVER!! We took celebratory pictures at the top of the Beacon (the official end), then celebrated with a pub lunch, knowing we still had 40 miles to do and knowing our excuse for a pub lunch was a fraud!   So what did I see along the way, well the obvious on any national trail is lots of fauna and flora. One of the Ridgeways distinctive characters is chalk, created tens of millions of years ago by the coalescing of dead seashells and mud, it is the stuff you walk on throughout the walk sometimes bright and shiny under foot sometimes buried just under the surface in field and woods. A famous site along the Ridgeway is the chalk horse  on the hillside, you can't actually see it from the Ridgeway, but if you go into the valley you can. Apparently the chalk is permeable and in wetter weather can become very sticky under foot, not a problem for us with the heatwave, rather the glare off its surface probably enhanced the suntan and made us feel even hotter. In the west there is much grassland and pasture, whereas the east was heavily wooded with beech trees, the replacement for the ancient oaks cut down during deforestation many years ago. Interesting and much to the dismay of the puppy, there is little water along the Ridgeway. The chalk soaks it up and so there are no rivers or streams until you get to the middle and hit the Thames at Goring Gap. Unfortunately whilst you can see the Thames for a few miles along this part of the route, there's little opportunity to actually dip your toes in it. We arrived there on a particularly scorching day and found only one place along the bank that was low enough for the pup to enjoy a paddle. In fact he smelt it first and flew down the path so fast to dive in I thought he was chasing something and went into a little panic. The last thing he chased was a sheep in the lakes, not to hurt it but to play with it. He was only 10 months old, it was a scary moment filled with thoughts of an angry farmer reaching for his gun and shooting my new baby dead, alas he returned unharmed, smiling and having no idea of the danger he had just been in. So water lacking we had to take extra supplies in the pack to avoid dehydration. As well as chalk there is stone and at the start of the walk is Britain's largest henge at Avebury. There is a misconception that henge are circles of standing stones like the famous Stonehenge, but this is untrue, they are in fact enclosures, with banks and ditches with opposing entrances. The one in Avebury is spectacular and would have been more so back in the day when more of the chalk was exposed creating a brilliant white circle around the henge. Another place I visited along the route was Waylands Smithy a Neolithic burial chamber enclosed by huge Sarsen stones dating back to 2800BC, wow….that's old. Whilst there in the middle of nowhere and thinking I was on my own, a woman appeared behind one of the stones, after a sharp intake of breath I decided she looked 'of this world' and although she did not acknowledge me (strange), she seemed harmless standing there hugging the stone. Waiting for her to leave, me and the pup did a few modern day selfies and once she'd left I decided to hug the stone too, well when in Rome…… of course it just felt like a cold hard stone with no special powers but to me amazing all the same as it had been sat there putting up with stone huggers for over 5000 years. Talking of strange things along the Ridgeway, as mentioned the east of the way has a lot of woodland…..'if you go down to the woods today, you're in for a big surprise'……… One evening whilst relaxing and partaking of a little vino after a fine days walk along the next section of the way, Simon decided to tell me that he had spoken to a chap that day whilst out cycling. He had told the chap about mine and the pups walk and the chap said he'd done the Ridgeway himself and had a jolly good time of it, until the day he did the Grim's Ditch bit! My eyes widened and my heart quickened as I reluctantly asked for more information. Apparently, according to Simon, the chap had found the place dark, overgrown and difficult under foot with old and gnarled tree stumps, he'd stumbled through feeling increasingly uneasy and a little chilled in his bones. On hearing this I immediately grabbed my guide book and scoured the pages to find this place, my god, there it was 2 miles of it in the middle of the the next days route. I remember swilling an extra glass of rosé before bed and telling myself to put those thoughts of ghosts and superstition out of my head. After a restless night we rose to glorious sunshine and a renewed sense of not believing in ghosts. We set off and within a few miles I became very aware that we were entering Grim's Ditch, my mantra being 'I am a big girl, independent and adventurous, the sun is shining, my dog has big teeth, there is nothing to fear'. All was quiet, it was narrow, a little overgrown meaning I got stung by nettles and kept tripping up over the gnarled tree stumps, did I feel uneasy? A little, it was long, seemed to be never ending, I remembered I was in the middle of nowhere, alone, an easy target, who was Grim anyway? what was he?……………..then suddenly footsteps, heavy, right behind me, my heart leaped, I turned, the chill entering my body, eyes wide I spotted him, right behind me……………the local jogger, 10 stone wet in bright yellow silky shorts. We exchanged hellos and he ran on and I sighed with relief. For the rest of the walk I felt no further fear, in fact the woods became my favourite place on the route, a retreat from the blistering heat, quiet and peaceful. The puppy loved it there too, running and exploring to his heart's content. So then there was the fauna - the animals. I love animals, except COWS, I fear cows, I avoid cows, I have run for my life to escape them and I know they are killers - Google it, you'll find cows have turned on there own farmers and trampled them to death. So when I start any walk I think 'will there be cows?' Normally I have Simon with me on walks in the countryside, he's adept at speaking to the cows and shooing them away whilst I do a large detour around the field they are in. Also he believes the branch he usually picks up before speaking to the cows will protect him, which is good for him. But on the Ridgeway I didn't have my protector. What I did have was an unpredictable dog. Previous I'd had Barney, a tricolour Collie not dissimilar looking to a dairy calf and often the main attraction for curious cows thinking I'd stolen one of their gang, hence my fear was tripled over the 15 years I had him walking with me. Alas no longer with us, I now had this other new dog and was unsure how cows would react to him and him to them, remember he's chased sheep recently. I decided he would always be on the lead when we went anywhere near animals until I knew him better, this left me vulnerable if the cows liked the look of him and wanted to come over. Advice is to let the dog go if you are chased, I wasn't sure I could do that. Anyhow a stroke of amazing good luck, there are very few cows along the Ridgeway, in fact we came across only 2 different herds, one we easily managed to avoid as they were at the other end of the field. The second lot was more difficult, a huge herd bang in the middle of the field we had to cross. On entering this particular field of cows I could see the way marker and kissing gate directly opposite me and beyond the mad staring eyes of Patch and buddies in the middle of the field. Patch is the name I give to the scariest cow in the herd, the one that has a black patch over one eye and makes it known with its killer stare that you've been spotted as soon as you enter the field. Practically choking the pup with the shortest lead possible we detoured round the edge of the field at speed (walking fast, stooping low and avoiding eye contact), all the time observing with military precision all parts of the fence that we could hurl ourselves over in an emergency. We made it to the kissing gate and with sudden lack of dexterity and jelly like fingers we eventually managed to get the gate open and dived through it to safety. Patch and his cronies didn't move an inch and continued to chew the cud waiting for the next fools to pass by. As well as cows there were sheep, chickens, squirrels, pheasants, the odd deer, birds (red kites everywhere) and lots more including horses. This area has a lot of Gallops, this was something I'd not seen before, it's fields with brushwood hurdles for training race horses, the area has many racing stables and most famously the gallops at Lambourn Downs next to the Ridgeway. In fact the Ridgeway in many places is a Byway, meaning it is open to cyclists and horse riders as well as walkers. I walked the Ridgeway at the end of June, it was on the whole really quiet, I saw few people besides the stone hugger, Grim the jogger and a few others, not sure if it is busier  at other times. I did bump into one lady out walking her dogs, she told me she had lived on the Ridgeway for many years and in recent years she had seen less and less people completing the trail, she thought it may be because people had started walking abroad. As our dogs played together we chatted about this and that, then she told me she had lost one of her own dogs the day before, it was ill and had to be put to sleep, the lady cried, I knew just how she felt I'd done exactly the same things a few a months before, a few days after I lost Barney and cried on the first person I saw out on my walk. I comforted her and told her about Barney and we cried together for a brief moment. Eventually we went our separate ways, I didn't ask her name, she didn't ask mine and we'll never meet again but it was one of those moments in time when out of the blue you are able to share something special and find comfort in a total stranger. Later in my walk I felt I needed to give a different stranger a very wide berth. I was pottering along in the sound of nature when I suddenly heard music, as I proceeded it got louder and I could make out that it was some kind of dance music, it seemed odd as there was no housing for miles just fields and tracks. As I turned a corner I saw a large vehicle, it looked like a large mobile home but the whole back end was open like it had been cut open with a tin opener and was now a platform at the back. On the platform was various furniture including a settee and an old tin bath. All around the van were trinkets and boxes of stuff, the music was very loud now and there was odours and a tinge of smoke coming from the van, but I couldn't see in past the beaded curtain spread across the opening. It resembled a den of iniquity and thought it best to sneak past unnoticed, but then the pup started barking at the van, I hurried on not wanting to disturb whoever was inside and briefly wondered what I'd  do if someone came out and invited me in, alas they didn't do so that particular story never happened. All in all this walk was fabulous. There's loads more to enjoy than I've talked about here and I'd definitely recommend people to do it. The Ridgeway is fairly low level and without the heat and a young pup you could if you’re a seasoned walker do more mileage and complete it within a week. I'd recommend booking accommodation along the way or as you go, although you'd need to plan that carefully as some parts are quite remote and it would mean extra walking into the villages to get to accommodation. You could probably wild camp quite easily although it's illegal - but maybe avoid Grim's Ditch unless you are one of those ghost hunter people! On a personal level I feel my confidence has grown and that whilst not always wanting to do things alone I know now that I can and at the same time enjoy it as well. Of course having the pup means I'm not really alone, a dog makes you feel safe, makes you laugh, keeps you company and can be the thing that gets you chatting to other walkers. Also having a taxi service (Simon Preston) to pick me up and drop me off also meant I wasn't alone and didn't have the hassle of carrying all my stuff with me or massaging my own weary feet. On a practical level as the walk can be remote supplies are essentials as there's no local Mickey D's or Ice cream van. I put glucose tabs in my drinks and took lots of drinks for me and the pup. A sandwich suffices but I also took bananas and malt loaf to snack on and obviously the puppy needed food which he supplemented with his own snacks of sheep poo and discarded tissues. As I was on my own I made sure my phone was charged and took a power pack to top up the charge if it ran low, this proved a god send one day when Simon couldn't find me and I needed to give him extra information and my phone ran out of charge, without the extra power I would have been unable to direct him to me. Walking gear, well it was 30 degrees, whilst a bikini would have been nice I opted for shorts, t-shirts, walking boots and a hat. I had a jacket in my pack but didn't get it out once in the 10 days of walking. Confession - I wore the same shorts everyday as they were so comfortable and had big pockets. I also just whipped my shorts down without a care when I needed a pee, no point in finding a bush as no one was around! And finally maps, although the Ridgeway is really well signposted there were still a couple of occasions where it wasn't clear and I had to work things out. Having the trail guidebook was good as well as they give you lots of extra information and things to look out for along the route which you might otherwise miss. So special thanks go to Simon Preston for all the encouragement as well as nightly foot massages, endless cups of tea and being able to actually find me up tracks in the middle of nowhere.  Thanks too to my pup for being the best friend and showing me what a great walking companion he is going to make. And thoughts to my beautiful Barney who was missed every day of the walk, but who gave me my previous 15 years of walking adventures and good times. Without these my horizon of possibilities would be less.

'A horizon of possibilities means the entire spectrum of beliefs, practices and experiences that are open before a particular society, given its ecological, technological and cultural limitations. Each society and each individual usually explores only a tiny fraction of their horizons of possibilities' Sapiens - A Brief History of Humankind, Yuval Noah Harari.

[smokeybrand]

Poppycock

Last night, i read a ton of the Crossed comics. I’d been seeing the Horsecock meme for a few years now and finally decided to pull the trigger to see what all the fuss was about. I’m always curious about ho the US does mature content in anything other than cinema because it rarely ever turns out decent. So how does Crossed fair? As something that wears it’s graphic nature on it’s sleeve, is it the unicorn that finally executes mature content, overt sexual situations, and storytelling in a way that is both satisfying and rewarding to the reader? No. No it does not. Crossed sucks. There shouldn’t be fuss because this sh*t is trash. Aside from the fact that the art is ugly as sin, making it incredibly difficult to want to keep reading, the actual narrative content is mediocre at it’s best and a whole ass dumpster fire at it’s worst. This sh*t is peak, teenage, edgelord, nonsense and it’s weird there are so many f*cking issues in the franchise. How is Crossed so successful? F*ck, dude, The Walking Dead does this entire narrative better. It’s like someone read that, removed all of the compelling character work and intricate world building, amped up the gore to cartoonishly ghoulish levels, and sh*t it out into a public too lazy to do the work. The Walking Dead is a story where the violence is a consequence of the plot. Crossed is a narrative that in service to, and almost an afterthought of, the violence. It’s the Michael Bay of this specific genre and i hated every minute i spent reading this trash. Also, and i can’t stress this enough, the art in these books is f*cking ugly. Not disgusting like they want it to be, but fundamentally poorly drawn.

Now, i may be a too hard on this series. May be. I’m not entirely sure but i feel like I'm not. I as raised on Eighties era Japanimation. That’s what we called it back then, not anime. Weebs weren’t a thing a yet, we were Otaku. I had a subscription to Newtype when i was, like twelve, that’s how deep i was into that sh*t. That’s how deep i am still into that sh*t. It’s wild seeing the culture shifts and how everything gets sanitized as appeal broadens but that’s a different essay. My point is i grew up on sh*t like Angel Cop, Dark City, Battle Angel Alita, and Akira. Tits and gore and sex and ultraviolence. It was intricately detailed and never skimped on the grim reality but was drawn with a passionate reverence for the art form. Hell, even films that have cultural significance and are heralded as high art like Grave of the Fireflies, never shied away from the brutality necessary for that narrative. I’ve seen a lot of f*cked up sh*t before my tenth birthday because of my love for the Japanese imports so i might be desensitized to this kind of stuff. That said, i know shock schlock when i see it and Crossed is definitely that. It’s an ugly, bloated, meandering, franchise filled with bad writing, poor art, and uninspired storytelling. We’ve seen this narrative before. Something triggers an apocalypse. Terrible people are terrible. Earnest people are trying to survive in the new status quo of nightmare and brutality. Now and Then, Here and There, did this much better, with less mutilation and more character development. The f*cking Mad Max franchise is built on this sh*t and Fury Road won Oscars for it. You don’t have to be Hemingway but, f*ck, give us something! Crossed doesn’t even present the bare minimum

Nothing is in service to a narrative. It’s all just murderrapezombies just for the shock of murderrapezombies. Holy sh*t, there’s incest in Family Values? That’s horrifying! Yosuga No Sora. They murdered those kids in the first limited? How f*cking bleak! Erased. I’ll admit, there are some interesting choices made in how to tell these pedestrian ass stories, Psychopath really stood out on that front, but the story, itself, is f*cking dumb. The first limited flirted with being pretty good over all but I've seen it done better elsewhere. Blood-C is a great example of that sh*t. Graphic violence, ridiculous gore you can feel, and still a damn decent overarching plot to tie it all together. The violence never overstays it’s welcome. It’s there to accentuate the powerlessness of our principals, never the main f*cking point of the story. I mentioned Alita before but if you want to focus on character, that’s your bet right there. The adventures of Gally are some of the most devastating situations you’ll ever experience. That chick has lived a life. Belladonna of Sadness is a horrible time but a beautiful watch. Want to go wide? An ensemble type narrative? AD Police. F*ck, dude, Devilman exists! Everything just mentioned, came out at least thirty f*cking years ago. Why is Crossed so bad when there is a plethora of material you can read that does this sh*t better? How can you not tell this type of story, when you have literally hundreds of example on how to tell this story properly, both contemporary and historical? And I'm only using Japanese content because that’s what I'm most familiar with. The French can give the Nihon a run for their money with some of the sh*t they’ve dropped over the years. Metal Hurlant, Heavy Metal when it skipped across the pond, is a straight up pioneer in this type of content. That motherf*cker has been publishing since the Seventies. It’s entire thing is mature storytelling and it does it in a way that’s compelling, easy on the eye, and rewarding to experience. Crossed does none of that.

Crossed is just gore porn trash. There’s no substance to be had . None of the characters are actually compelling. All of the violence is gratuitous. It’s never used as a mirror to humanity, just bloody viscera for the sake of it. It does nothing with that naked violence that has merit outside of just being there. Why do the Crossed f*cked each other to death? Is the fact that there are a mother and son character f*cking matter outside of the intrinsic revulsion humans are supposed to feel toward that type of sh*t? Where is the narrative reward for that guy f*cking a moose corpse? I can’t express how try-hard all of this comes across. There’s so much rape and mutilation in this thing, it just becomes normal. All the carnage s just background noise at some point and you’re left with lackluster storytelling for the remainder of the read. Like, there’s a scene where a bunch of these assholes are circle jerking into a bowl of bullets to turn people they shoot. That’s a scene in this comic which had potential. You could have explored how maybe the Crossed are more capable and build them up as a far deadlier threat. Nope. Another shows a bunch of Crossed eating baby corpses in an long abandoned delivery room. Why? What’s the point of this scene? How much harder would it hit if it wasn’t Crossed eating the fetus jerky, but regular people? This is how low some people would stoop just to live another day, even if that day is in a living hell. I read Sweet Tooth a few weeks back and it has a lot in common with Crossed. They can be companion pieces. Sweet Tooth is infinitely better. It does all the things you need to do, in order to tell this type of story. Emotional anchoring, strong motivations, a unrelenting sense of bleak struggle; Sweet Tooth is everything Crossed should have been. Instead, i got horsecock.

[toycarousel]

How to Dissect Love (Yandere!Kankri x Listener x Cronus)

This is a SFW but very gory script.  I wrote the script based on the commissioner’s ideas, so credit for the concept of this story and its prequel belong to them~! (To the commissioner: Let me know if you’d like to be credited by name, url, or remain anonymous!!!)

Summary: You've been trapped at Kankri's hive for a few days since he decided to keep you prisoner.  Your boyfriend, Cronus, decides to check in on Kankri and ends up in an unfortunate position.

***Warnings: (Please heed these!!!) Gore, violence, sharp objects, needles, body horror, mutilation, dissection, blood, surgical/medical themes, abduction, vague mentions of hard drugs.

The full script is beneath the readmore:

When he finally awakens, the storm outside is what Cronus hears first.   It was raining, hard, when he sprinted to Kankri’s hive in search of you.  Cronus knows Kankri as his moirail -- but also as a recently unpredictable, furious rival for your affections.

He groans, eyes adjusting to particularly unkind fluorescents.

Cronus: (Confused, in pain, and mumbling) What… where am I? Kan, are you in here somewhere? I… came to visit… you… Kan?

Kankri is seated beside you, on one of the hospital beds he’d stolen from school.  Though your wrists and ankles are firmly buckled, you do prefer it to the metal gurney you’d originally woken upon, those few, long days ago.  Cronus is strapped, unclothed, to an identical bed; fully bound.  Kankri is tenderly unwrapping your most recent bandages, exposing the wrongful destruction of your feet.

Kankri: Yes, Cronus! I’m right here.  I thought you’d come to visit us soon. Sooner than this, actually.  Though it’s not in my nature to be overly critical, I must say I’m a bit disappointed in you!

Cronus: That abandoned car, with the blood… they were missing… and you too! I thought, I mean -- shit my head hurts -- are… are the cops here?

Kankri: Now why would there be human law enforcement in the basement of my hive, Cronus? I know I hit your head when you rudely barged in here -- without even texting me first, might I humbly add -- but despite the blow, you must still realize how silly and unwarranted that sort of question is!  

You: (Attempt to address Cronus, with the intent of both warning him, and announcing your presence).

Kankri: (Interjects before you can utter a word.  He speaks to you directly, aware of your intentions) There’s no need for fearmongering, and you know that! Haven’t I taken good care of you these past few days? I’ve fed you, clothed you, bathed you, and, of course… perfectly tended to your new fins! They’re healing quite beautifully...

Cronus: (Slurring) Who are you talking to…? (He finally turns his head, braving the lights’ harsh radiance through a brutal headache.  When he sees you -- and then your “fins” -- his face contorts into an odd collection of abject relief; horror, sorrow, and revulsion).  No… no, no, no, no, no! What happened to you!? Oh, God, I was so afraid, I thought… (he shudders) that I might never see you alive again, and… and now you’re hurt… what… who did that to you…?

You: (Shakily state that you knew he’d come for you.  You’re sobbing quietly -- alongside a grim, throbbing heartache -- as you fully recognize just how much danger Cronus is now in).

Kankri: Alright, my dearests.  As important as it is to verbally connect with our loved ones, and thoroughly examine all avenues of conversation and detail possible, in order to truly understand a situation and therefore maintain a valid and lasting opinion on any given topic -- I’m afraid I’ll have to stop you two for a moment.

Kankri: You see, Cronus.  I know you’ve been dating each other for a while… you’ve told me all about your little relationship with them (he tilts his head toward you), and you seem happy… but I, too, enjoyed time with them -- before you did, actually… and during that time, and the past few days, we connected, more than I thought possible between any two respectively disparate beings! I know what’s inside my heart.  I know it’s true, and good, and pure.

Cronus: (Catching on, despite his desire to believe anything else) What are you… talking about? You did this!? I thought that… that I was just being protective… taking a shot in the dark...

Kankri: (Continuing blithely) However, what you have with them… well, I’m sorry, Cronus, but it’s a falsehood.  It’s not the same as what they and I share.  I love them.

Cronus: (With his wits steadily returning to him in dire straits) So you... what? Ran them off the road? Kidnapped them!? That’s not love, Kankri! I thought you supported our relationship! You’re my moirail… how... how could you do this!?

Kankri: Precisely.  I am your moirail, and therefore it is my personal responsibility -- and duty, in fact -- to inform you of the truth.  You can’t possibly love them the way I do.  Look at what I’ve done for them! They said they love the sea, and I gave them fins! The most powerful, symbolic freedom... I’ve given to them.  Now, they’re closer to what they love than ever!

Cronus: You hurt them! Kankri, this is all wrong… it’s so wrong… (he turns to you) don’t worry, Baby, I’m gonna get outta here and go get help, I’m gonna get you out of --

Kankri: Though I do hate to interrupt you a second time, as interrupting a person is highly unprofessional -- and I am a professional, as you can clearly see -- I feel obligated to let you know that neither of you are in need of help from anyone but me.  I know how to help you both, how to set things right… I know just what to do to free you two from this facsimile of a relationship.  Then, all three of us can be happy together, in all the right ways; forever!

Kankri: You’ve always liked spending time in my hive, haven’t you, Cronus? Why shouldn’t you stay here with me, as my dear moirail, and you (he turns to you again) as my matesprit -- my one, true love…

Cronus: Kan… I’m in love with them… and… and you can stop all this right now, before (he swallows, dryly, eyes flickering to the various spectres of medical equipment surrounding him)... before it’s too late… before you do something you can’t take back!

You: (Fearfully whisper that you love him too.  Kankri doesn’t hear you, but Cronus does).

Kankri: (Speaking softly, as if to a child in the throes of a small tantrum) You don’t love them, Cronus, you’re simply infatuated.  They’ve seen true love in me, and in my actions.  They’ve seen what’s inside my pump-biscuit -- ah, pardon, I don’t mean to use language that isn’t fully applicable to humans, and thereby alienate you both -- they’ve seen what’s in my heart… they haven’t seen what’s in yours.  Not yet.

Kankri: Fortunately, they will! That will clear this all up nicely, and then we can move on with our new lives together! Just a moment…

He stands to tend an IV pole and pull a tray of cruel instruments toward Cronus. A standard ECG is positioned nearby.  Kankri quickly patches several electrodes to Cronus’ arms, lower stomach, and legs.  He conspicuously avoids the chest area.  

Kankri: I’ve performed several autopsies before, but never on living subjects.  Of course, this won’t exactly be a true autopsy, but I promise you, I’ll be as thorough as possible! (He smiles, as if to calm Cronus, who is struggling more fervently) Now, now… it’s alright.  It’s just a little pinch -- deep breath in! (He expertly inserts the IV needle into Cronus’ forearm.  The process is quick, and smooth, as Kankri’s had many opportunities to practice on you).  Deep breath out!

Kankri: … And we’re done!

Cronus: (Still half disbelieving) Kan, please...

Kankri: Now, I don’t want you to think that I’m going to give you painkillers or sedation until after the procedure is complete.  I’ll be monitoring your heart-rate with the ECG and my own eyes.  Though, given the area I must dissect, I won’t be able to promise an accurate reading.  There’s really no purpose in placing any electrodes directly on your chest, as they’ll simply be peeled away during the surgical process… still, I thought the gesture might be a comfort to you.

Kankri: (He lovingly sweeps Cronus’ hair back from his sweat-slicked brow) As I implied, you will be given a sedative and painkillers when I choose to sew you back up -- after they’ve seen, firsthand, what’s in your heart!

You: (Feverishly begging Kankri to stop, offering yourself forever if he’ll just spare Cronus).

Kankri: Don’t be absurd! We’ll all be together forever regardless, so there’s no point in you begging me to set him free.  Besides, he’s in good hands.  You should know by now that you can trust me to take care of my loved ones… here, let’s begin the procedure.  That will set you both at ease.

Cronus: (Trying to retain dignity through his tearful panic) What about blood-loss, Kan? I… can’t stay with you both forever if I die of blood loss… right?

Kankri: Oh, my dear moirail, I’ve got that completely under control.  The bags I have stored are your precise hue, not to worry.  (Fetches a glimmering scalpel from the tray beside him) You know you both need to learn to trust me more, or we’ll just have to relive these same difficult experiences over and over and over again!

Kankri: Now, time for the first incision! This is so exciting, isn’t it?

Cronus tries to contain his screams as Kankri makes two large, initial deep slices.  Blood gathers to the surface of each cut, extending from Cronus’ right and left shoulders.  The thickish purple fluid dribbles down his sides, and greasily smears Kankri’s hands.

Kankri: My, you’re juicy, aren’t you? Fortunately, highbloods can handle far more physical tests like these than warmer-hued beings can.  Ah, not to suggest that you aren’t human, Cronus -- just that you’re a special case!  

You: (Crying out to Cronus, trying to soothe him against the intense pain.  You tug desperately at your bindings, hoping to escape and find help.  The braces around your ankles cause excruciating discomfort as they jostle each unhealed, mangled “fin.”)

Kankri: Time for another cut! This will be a long one.  You’ll likely experience what feels like extreme heat as I run the knife down your navel.  Don’t fret, I won’t cut too far down!

Cronus: (Delirious with the searing new torture, he speaks to you) Hey… hey… don’t cry… it’s okay, it’s going to be okay! I’m… (he breathes through his unintentional groans) not doing so bad… it’s not so bad…

Kankri: That’s the spirit! Now, I’m going to peel back the tissue, utilizing this scalpel (he snatches a new one from the tray and gazes at it fondly before turning back to Cronus), break a few of your ribs for the sake of visibility of the target organ, and, well… see what’s truly in your heart.

Cronus: (Trying to remain conscious) Oh, God… God… please…

Kankri: It’s not time to sleep yet!  

You try to shatter your hands, and rip them from the cuffs, but it simply doesn’t work.  No matter how hard you endeavour, you’re helpless to save Cronus.  Still, you keep pulling and pulling at your restraints.

Kankri fulfills his threats.  He shifts between callousness and utmost, loyal care as he strips Cronus’ of various membranous and muscular tissues.  Then, peaceful and focused even within the chaotic din of your protesting screams and Cronus’ worst wails, Kankri uses a heavier instrument to snap four of his moirail’s ribs.  Cronus is gripping his own cuffs now, trying to stay awake despite wanting, more than anything, to become oblivious.

Kankri: Wait… hush now.  Something is wrong.  (Blank; in shock).

Kankri: I can see everything… (he steps back from Cronus’ heaving, exposed viscera, and suddenly focuses all his attention on you).

You: (Strain to see Cronus, but with only a side-view, your comprehension of the most extreme damage is limited).

Kankri: Maybe it’s… oh, no… can you see it? You can... can’t you? I’ve made a mistake… (beginning to panic, he presses his hands against parted, lax lips, accidentally staining them an ominous purple).

You: (Shake your head.  You don’t know what sort of sudden trance Kankri’s in, but you softly, slowly ask him to untie you.  It’s as if you’re speaking gently to a deer, dying on the highway).

Kankri: (Nods, and steps toward you, unstrapping your wrist restraints) This wasn’t supposed to be the result… I didn’t know…

You: (Ask him what he’s talking about, distantly, as you realized Cronus’ cries have dimmed far too much).

Kankri: (On his knees, stunned, and very small) See for yourself.  (He points toward Cronus, without turning his head even slightly).

You use your freed hands to release your twisted, oozing feet.  Your struggles have reopened recent wounds.  With trembling effort, you prop yourself on your knees until you can finally see all of Cronus.  

You’ll never forget the sight of your boyfriend, carved open and violated in a manner too pure to be enacted with true malignancy.  He’s still breathing, and his voice is reedy from screams that seems to echo in the air; haunting it. Haunting you.

Kankri: (Flatly) He’s not dead, is he?

You: (Mutter “no,” and prepare to fight Kankri off with all your, unfortunately, diminished strength if he pursues you.  You’re sliding from the bed, tumbling and crawling…)

Cronus mumbles, in a trance not unlike Kankri’s, but you can’t make sense of his words.  He sighs, and then all you hear is Kankri’s voice, following your slow, distressed ascent on the stairs.

Kankri: ...There was love in his heart, after all.